Scarlett Giselle Series
by mamazano
Summary: The ongoing saga of Jack Sparrow and his favorite wenches in Tortuga, Scarlett and Giselle. Originally a One-Shot, the twosome have developed a life of their own, demanding further exploration. Fortunately, Jack is there to do the exploring.
1. Three's Company

Title: Three's Company  
Rating: M (suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack / Giselle / Scarlett  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with him

Summary: Jack Sparrow helps call a truce between his two favorite ladies of the night.

Note: This silly piece evolved from a plot bunny suggested by my recent drabbles Lost Wages and Empty Bed. How DID Scarlett and Giselle meet, and more importantly becomes friends?

**Three's Company**

--

Their first meeting was acrimonious, at best.

"Who's she?" she asked him, furious at having been bested by the redhead. Her resounding slap had put him right, though. She'd savored that moment all evening, replaying her indignation over and over as she plied her trade along the docks.

It was only later, when she'd finally retired to her small straw-filled cot in the back room of the _Faithful Bride_ that she'd realized with disappointment that he hadn't sought her out, as was his custom when he was in Tortuga. Regretting her fit of pique she rolled onto her side and stared at the moon rising over the sea beyond the dingy confines of her tiny room.

"Probably with _her_," she seethed in disgust. "The men always prefer the redhead."

--

The redhead rested her arms on the windowsill, leaning out to catch the faintest breeze blowing in from the bay, her bare arms and bosom gleaming like alabaster in the moonlight. Scanning the now quiet street below, she fretted to herself, angry at her irrational reaction at seeing him. What possessed her to act in such a way? Who was she to lay any claim to such a free spirit? Yet her heart ached when she thought of him. Unlike all the others with whom she spent her evenings, he alone bothered to give something in return. What he lacked in gold he made up for in finesse. A Midas touch he had, and how she ached to have him touch her again.

Returning to her narrow bed she wrapped her arms around herself. "He's probably with that blonde," she sighed. Men always seemed to favor the blondes.

--

The second time they met, they came to blows.

Scarlett was coming out of the local haberdashery, clutching her newly purchased ribbons and threads. A flurry of gold brushed roughly against her, knocking her notions from her hand into the mud filled street, then shouldered past her into the shop without so much as a by-your-leave.

Furiously, Scarlett followed the reprobate into the shop, demanding that she make good on the now-ruined ribbons that were floating away down the lane.

"You!" the other woman screeched. "A waste of fripperies it'd be. Like buyin' pearls for swine."

"How dare you!" Scarlett sputtered, leaning forward, waggling her finger. "You couldn't get a pig to poke you!"

"You painted hussy, I'll poke you one!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh wouldn't I?"

With that Giselle grabbed the redhead with both hands, wrenching handfuls of hair as Scarlett kicked her in the shins. Grabbing at the nearest display, Scarlett smacked her opponent soundly on the back with a parasol. Giselle countered with a box of talc, showering the two of them in a fine powdery mist.

The haberdasher ran out from behind the counter, wringing his hands and imploring, "Ladies, ladies, please!" They paid him no heed. Giselle wrestled Scarlett down onto the ground and straddled her, slapping her face while the redhead kicked and screamed.

"Ladies, would you please stow it?!" The loud command from above caused them to pause. Looking up through their disheveled hair and dusting of powder, they realized they must look for all the world like two wayward children caught misbehaving. He grinned crookedly, a golden gleam to match the one in his eyes.

"My two favorite ladies in all Tortuga! A sight for sore eyes to be sure." Jack reached down and hoisted Giselle onto her feet, ducking her right hook as he held out a helpful hand to Scarlett. Dodging her left, he brushed off his coat and stepped back quickly, giving both women an appraising look and a wide berth.

"Why don't the two of you come join meself in a celebratory drink, aye? I've treasure in me pockets enough for the both of you." He flashed his most engaging smile, cocking his head, eyes twinkling.

Neither one of the women wanted to go with the other, but then neither did they want the other to go with Jack. So a temporary truce was called, and the three of them made their way out into the Tortuga streets. Jack wrapped one arm around each lady, joking and laughing with them as they picked their way through the mud and filth that made up the pirate haven.

"Now don't tell me you ladies haven't missed me!" Jack planted a wet kiss on each of their cheeks, wrinkling his nose from the fine coating of powder. "Ah! A bouquet as fresh as springtime, and both lovelier than a summer morn." The girls twittered, each of them determined to be the one with whom Jack retired at the end of the night.

Jack found them an empty table in the _Faithful Bride_, signaling to the serving girl as he gallantly seated the two women on either side of him. "Now tell me, how could two such agreeable and, I must add, delectable ladies such as yourselves come to such a disagreeable disagreement?"

"She ruined my ribbons!"

"Did not!"

"Did too! And called me a pig."

"You did?" Jack eyes widened.

"I did, she deserved it."

"Did not!"

"Ladies, please!" Jack held up a hand in supplication. "Listen to me. Yes, I will find you new ribbons. No, she is not the least bit like a pig. If you won't take me word on it, I'll fetch Mr. Gibbs, a virtual expert on the subject of swine." He took a long swallow of rum and added, "And, if the two of you can learn to get along, ol' Jack has a real treat in store for you both."

The women _ooohed_ in unison, eagerly sipping their drinks, and wondering what marvel Jack would pull out of his hat. He sat back in satisfaction, draping an arm around each of their soft, round shoulders. The night was beginning to look promising indeed.

--

The hour was late, yet the town was just coming alive. Jack and the girls picked their way through the brawling, jostling crowd and out into the Tortugan night, where the sound of random gunfire and carousing accompanied them as they ambled drunkenly towards the waterfront. Both women were teetering along, leaning heavily against Jack, whose rolling gait was even more pronounced, causing the entire party of three to bob and sway like a small boat in a choppy sea. Their destination was Jack's pride and joy, the _Black Pearl_, which Jack had promised to show them.

The two women had found, after their initial dislike and distrust had been dispelled by copious amounts of alcohol, that they actually had quite a lot in common. Well, besides their chosen profession and their mutual fondness for Jack. It turned out both had been born in Whitechapel, and had traveled to the Caribbean as young girls. Both of them had a weakness for fripperies, and a wicked right cross. And both of them were determined to be the one with whom Jack chose to spend the night.

--

Having thrown enough coin at each of them to pay for an entire night, Jack felt entitled to share it with both of them. The question was, would it be one at a time or a happy threesome? After witnessing the brawl earlier in the day, Jack was pretty much convinced he'd be having to chose one over the other, which was a scary notion at best. Rubbing his jaw thoughtfully he decided to broach the subject. Feel it out so to speak.

"Ladies, I have a proposition to put to you." Jack gave them his most charming smile, handing each of them a cup of rum. He had saved the best for last, ending their tour of his ship in the Great Cabin. He poured himself a rum and held his cup up. "But first a toast, to the two most delightful and delectable women in all of Tortuga… no, not just Tortuga, the entire Caribbean!" His gold edged grin glimmered in the soft candle light. Scarlett was listing to starboard on the seat beneath the stern windows, Giselle, to port on the edge of the bunk.

"To us!" slurred Scarlett, her head lolling to one side.

"Hear, hear!" seconded Giselle, raising her glass and promptly passing out, her cup slipping noisily to the floor.

Jack frowned at the spilt rum, then leered slightly at the disheveled woman sprawled across his bunk. He gave a quick glance towards his other guest, only to find Scarlett asleep as well, chin resting on her most ample and appealing bosom. He looked back over at his bunk, from which a slightly nasal snoring was softly emanating. Sighing, his eyes darted back to the redheaded beauty, now slumped in a most unladylike manner against the windows.

Jack strolled over to the table and picked up the bottle of rum. Heaving another sigh he took a long swallow then turned and set about making the girls more comfortable. Dragging a footstool over he managed to get Scarlett settled across the window seat; Giselle seemed quite comfy where she lay.

Chuckling to himself, Jack took the rum and went out on deck, breathing deeply of the salty tang of the sea and raising the bottle in a silent salute to the night. For it wasn't every evening a man was lucky enough to have two beautiful wenches in his cabin, and an even more beautiful one under his feet. With a caressing hand he rubbed the worn wood of the rail and smiled.

Not all treasure's silver and gold. It also came in red, yellow and black.


	2. Working For a Living

Title: Working for a Living  
Characters: Jack / Giselle / Scarlett  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with him

**Working for a Living**

--

Sometimes they'd speak of him, on slow nights. This particular evening seemed longer than most – without a new ship making port, business had been sluggish all week. It seemed the better paying gents were all off on account leaving the town populated by the usual derelict dredges of an already derelict bunch.

Giselle watched the door with a growing sense of despair, no customers meant no pay. No pay meant no bed for the night. Might be able to barter a space in the barn but she was determined not to stoop to that. Her companion – sometimes nemesis, sometimes ally – was pretty much in the same boat. Scarlett had spent her last shilling on a bottle of rum, which she was now magnanimously sharing with Giselle.

An unlikely friendship had sprung up between the two, in between competition for their daily sustenance, they had come to find each other's company fairly enjoyable. A lonely profession, the oldest in the world and also the most alienating. Mistrust was the order of the day, a scrambling existence and an early death the inevitable outcome.

"Think he'll be making port anytime soon?" Giselle sipped her drink, trying to make it last, as the night loomed long before her.

"Don't we all wish," Scarlett sighed her response. The two didn't need to clarify who "he" was, there was only one man they both referred to with such longing.

"Promised me a new frock, next time he were in town." Giselle furrowed her brow and added, "Course, he always promises something, don't he?"

--

She remembered the evening in question as if it were yesterday. The night had been a busy one, with several new ships making berth the town's population had swelled, brimming with eager men needing what she had to offer. So it was with a sense of disappointment she'd had to turn him down when he came searching for her.

"Giselle!" he'd purred, arms outstretched, his usual golden grin and sparkling eyes bewitching her senses.

"Jack Sparrow!" She'd allowed him a sweeping kiss before pushing him away gently.

"You're a delight as always, the finest wench in all Tortuga…" He wrapped her arm in his and began to walk towards the nearest tavern.

She interrupted him with a frown. "It's a busy night, Jack. If you have the coin, I'll listen to the flatterin'. A girl's gotta earn a living."

It was his turn to frown. But then he brightened and said glibly, "Ah, but that has never been a problem between us, has it, luv?" He resumed his resolute path towards the pub, towing her along.

Giselle allowed herself to be led through the crowded streets, after all, what would an hour do, 'cept make the men drunker and more eager for her wares. One drink with Jack, and that's all, she promised herself. Like she'd told him, a girl needed to make a living.

The _Faithful Bride_ was crowded to capacity that evening, men jostling one another, shouting out greetings or curses, depending on who they caught sight of. The whores of Tortuga were out in force as well, circulating among the crowd, allowing the less patient a sampling right there in the darker corners or beneath the scattered tables.

Jack juggled his way through the crowd carrying two tankards of rum, a bottle tucked under his arm. He bobbed and weaved his way across the room to where Giselle sat perched on the edge of a wooden bench in the back recessed area of the tavern. A favorite spot for those gents wanting a quick fix without paying the extra coin for a room. She caught a glimpse of a familiar red skirt shimmied up beneath the neighboring table. From the glazed look on the crusty salt's face sitting sprawled on the bench, she'd say he was getting his money's worth.

Jack followed Giselle's gaze and grinned wickedly. "Watch this!" He put a finger to his lips and slipped silently over to the adjoining table. Glancing around carefully, Jack spread his long fingers wide and wiggled them slightly before gently reaching down, slowing sliding his hand into the groaning man's pocket. A wink and a grin and Jack was sliding into the seat next to her, a leather pouch clinking softly in his hand.

"Ta!" He gave the other table another glance, but no recompense was to follow, the old geezer was face down amidst the clutter of empty plates and cups, snoring loudly. A rustling of skirts announced the arrival of the source of this sudden somnolence, as the redhead scuttled out from under the table, brushing off her skirts and giving the gent an indignant glare.

Hooking her thumb at the slumbering drunkard she explained, " That's why you always have 'em pay upfront."

"Scarlett!" Jack held his hands out wide, grinning like a fool.

Giselle elbowed him sharply in the ribs and said in a peeved voice. "I thought you were wantin' me t' entertain you!"

Jack wrapped one arm around her, mostly to fend off an impending slap and said cheerfully, "Why darling, the night is yet young, and there is plenty of coin in me pockets for the both of you. Double the pleasure, eh?" He reached into his jacket and pulled out the purloined bag, emptying the contents onto the table.

The girls stared in dismay. The clinking had not been coins at all, just an odd assortment of junk – bits of metal and buttons and rocks that rolled out onto the table along with one shiny coin. Jack gingerly picked up the bit of gold between thumb and finger and gave it a good bite. Smiling he held it aloft and said brightly, "Better than nothing!"

Scarlett shook her head and went off in search of her next customer. Giselle finished her drink and started to rise, hesitating as Jack placed his hand gently on her arm. Running one finger lightly down her arm he said thoughtfully, "Not all treasure's silver and gold, luv. I'm sure we can come to some sort of mutual understanding, aye?" He began playing with her fingers, stroking each one slowly and sensually.

Giselle sighed and pulled her hand away. "I'd love to Jack. But picking's have been slim lately and I'm needin' a new frock, this one's falling apart. A girl needs to look her best in my trade."

Jack sat back with a satisfied smirk. "Is that ALL? Darling, I'll find you the finest frock in all the islands, if I have to plunder me way across the Spanish Main. I promise you a half dozen new ones next time we make port." He draped his arm around her soft, white shoulders pulling her close, allowing his expressive fingers to wander slowly down the expanse of pale skin, lingering across her bosom before meandering further south in their exploration.

She sighed again, knowing she'd regret the loss of earnings come morning. So few men ever took the time to even care who it was servicing them, let alone seeing to their needs. What Jack lacked in plunder he made up for with pleasure. She moaned slightly as his inquisitive hand found her hardened nipple, squeezing gently as he nipped at her neck.

"Just this one time, Jack Sparrow," she finally managed to say between his kisses and fondling. "But not here." She rose and brushed down her frayed skirt, wondering if she'd ever see those frocks. At the moment though she wasn't sure it mattered, and smiled as Jack gathered up the odd assortment of items, sweeping them off the table and back into their pouch. With a grin he gently tucked them back into the sleeping gent's pocket, gathered the bottle of rum and held out his arm.

"A pleasurable evening awaits. What say you to that?"

--

Giselle was interrupted from her reverie by the sound of men's voices entering the tavern. Scarlett sat up straight and patted her hair. Swallowing the rest of her drink she stood and smiled brightly as she made her way across the room. Giselle sat for a few minutes longer, savoring her memories before squaring her shoulders and doing the same.

After all, she couldn't spend all her time daydreaming about new frocks. A girl had to earn a living, after all.


	3. There's Always a First Time

Title: There's Always a First Time  
Rating: M (suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack / Giselle / Scarlett  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with him

**There's Always a First Time**

--

"Ow!" Scarlett frowned at her thumb, a small droplet of blood forming where the needle had pricked it.

"Don't know why yer botherin' with that." The languid voice commented from across the narrow room. "Ain't like none of the gents are inspectin' 'em. Too eager to get at what's underneath."

Scarlett glared at her roommate from where she sat hunched over her sewing straining her eyes in the fitful light that seeped through the dingy window. Giselle was sprawled, most unladylike, across the room's only bed, her threadbare chemise clinging to her too-thin frame in the sultry heat.

"My mum always said you could tell a lady by the state of her petticoats," Scarlett answered. She frowned and straightened the item in question with a sharp tug, sucking on her injured thumb to stop the bleeding.

"That's rich!" Giselle laughed, rolling over onto her side and propping herself up on one elbow. "Since when did you consider yerself a lady?"

Scarlett didn't answer, just straightened her back and. went back to her sewing. There _had_ been a time, once. Seemed a lifetime ago.

As the lazy afternoon wore on, Scarlett continued with her mending, while Giselle prattled on about this and that. The two women had pooled their resources and found a small room for let above the haberdashery. It was their private place, off limits to their customers, a place to retreat to, a place of solace, a place of…

"So where're you from, I mean before you came here?" Giselle was always a curious one.

Scarlett set her sewing down and sighed. "I grew up on a farm."

"You, a farm girl?" Giselle sputtered.

"Yes…for a time, at any rate. Until my father died suddenly one spring, and left my mother and us five girls penniless."

"What about the farm?"

"A woman can't own property! You know that!" Scarlett scolded, patiently. "A distant cousin took it—the bastard! Showed up on the doorstep one day and promptly turned us all out. We were destitute. Mum, she was forced to find work, ended up taking a position at the local manor house. Scullery maid. It was horrid." Scarlett fell silent for a moment then added quietly, "It was either that or the workhouse." Seeing the inquisitive look on Giselle's face, she hastily added, "After mum died I came out here. Anyways, it was a long time ago. I'd rather not talk about it." She turned back to her sewing. Some things were best left forgotten. _If only she could_.

_Scarlett had been the eldest of the five, and had watched her mother die slowly from heartbreak and abuse, for it had not taken the lord of the manor long to seek out the comely widow for his own perverse pleasures. Her mother had endured it all without complaint, thankful to be able to give her daughters a roof over their head and food in their bellies._

_But when the gentleman turned his wandering eye towards her eldest, then barely thirteen, her mother had mustered a spark of her former spirit and adamantly opposed her employer. For her indiscretion, she was dismissed from her position and sent to a workhouse along with her girls. _

_Her mother had succumbed to a fever that winter and the girls had been sent away, along with scores of other orphaned youths, to provide labor for Britain's struggling colonies in the New World. Scarlett had found herself in a strange land, and an even stranger climate. However, she had soon become accustomed to the heat and humidity of North Carolina, preferring it to the miserable cold and damp that was her last remembrance of home._

"You remember yer first time?" The sleepy voice brought Scarlett back to the present with a jolt.

Giselle didn't wait for an answer. She was lying on her stomach, chin resting on her hands, one leg lazily circling above her back. "I was just fifteen, working in the kitchen up at the big house. Jimmy, he was one of the stable hands. Dark haired, dark eyes, I'd only seen 'im from a distance. Us girls would watch them lads while we were out working in the garden. They'd be pitchin' hay, their shirts off. Made us all wet with excitement."

Giselle rolled onto her back and gazed at the ceiling. "Mrs. Trotts had sent me down to the stable that night with the evening meal, and well…one thing led to another. Before I knew it, he had me in the hay right there next to the horses. 'Bout near got stepped on!"

Scarlett frowned at her. "Did you enjoy it?"

Giselle laughed. "Didn't know I were supposed to. Mrs. Trotts whipped me good when she found out."

Scarlett sighed and rummaged around in her sewing box. "Seen my blue threads?" she asked, changing the subject. "I know I put them in here last week."

Giselle shrugged her shoulders. "Haven't touched yer bloomin' threads. The way you go on about them, I swear…" She sat up on the edge of the bed, girlishly swinging her long legs back and forth.. "So, come on, tell me. Who was yer first?" Giselle could be rather persistent when she wanted.

Scarlett stared out the window for a long moment before speaking. "No one. I don't remember." She stood up; the subject was closed. Sharing a room was one thing, sharing her secrets… well, she'd only spoken about it to one soul, and even then she hadn't meant to.

--

"So his name was Edmund. Good strong name. Did you love him?"

Jack had been lounging next to her, twirling a lock of her hair absentmindedly around his finger. He laid half in shadow, the candlelight creating a soft sheen on his face and chest, still damp with sweat from their earlier exertions. Even without all his trappings, stripped down and bare, he had a touch of the exotic about him.

"What makes you say a thing like that?"

"It was _his_ name on your lips."

Scarlett had glanced away, biting her lip at her slip of the tongue. She hadn't meant to mention Edmund; she thought his memory was safely tucked away, far from prying minds. Bloody Giselle's prodding had brought it all out again, too close to the surface, especially under Jack's watchful eye. Other men—other customers—would have never noticed.

But then, Jack wasn't like all those others. Scarlett had a rule about becoming too familiar with any of her regulars, but Jack had a way of getting around most rules, . And while he was not adverse to taking his pleasure quickly, as he was often prone to do (there'd been numerous times where a quick two minutes against the wall sufficed), Jack also seemed to enjoy a more leisurely encounter, at least when he could afford it—and many times when he couldn't.

Jack had showed up earlier that evening with money in his pockets – a rare event indeed. Even rarer, he seemed genuinely intent that she derived as much pleasure from their coupling as he did.

"So he was your first love… or lover… or both?"

Jack could be as persistent as Giselle when he wanted. He grinned and ran a tar-stained finger down her milky white skin, seeking and exploring, nimble fingers finding favorite places.

Scarlett moaned softly at Jack's touch, distracted enough to answer his question. "Both."

She arched her back as his clever fingers found what they were seeking, hot and moist and ready for him again. He deftly maneuvered himself upon her, giving her time to adjust before entering. Having paid for the entire night, Jack seemed determined on seeing that his money was well spent. He teased her, pacing himself, a wicked grin on his face. Obviously enjoying being the one giving the pleasure, he made sure she was totally satisfied before achieving his own .

Rolling off to one side he gave her a sideways glance.

"So, tell me about Edmund. He was your very first, aye? Seems odd."

Scarlett frowned. "What seems odd?"

"That you still remember him. Not sure if I could put a name to me first… or second for that matter. Ah! But I _do_ remember me third. Bonny lass she was. Charlene. No, Charlotte. No that's not it. Chastity! Bugger, that couldn't be it."

Jack was laying flat on his back, spread-eagle and sweaty, his brow furrowed in an attempt to recollect. He gave Scarlett one of his sideways grins and added, "This Edmund fellow must have been mighty special."

Scarlett sat up impatiently and crossed her arms. "Why do you even care, Jack Sparrow? Never had any man care what my name was, let alone about my past. Why should you?"

Scarlett was no stranger to having men confess their innermost thoughts to her. It came with the profession, and those men who came seeking something more than physical gratification. Some men visited a whore out of loneliness, other out of anger or heartbreak. After months at sea, on a ship full of men, a woman's touch seemed to bring out all their fears, and frustrations and longings. And she had listened and comforted, and given them the solace they needed. Not one of them had ever asked about her – her life, her dreams…. until Jack.

Jack shrugged and said offhandedly, "Everyone has a past, darling. Most would rather forget theirs. But hiding it away won't make it disappear."

Scarlett sighed. "And what is your past, Jack? What are you hiding away?"

He raised one finger and said flippantly. "A man can't tell _all_ his secrets." He hitched up on his elbows and went on in a more philosophical tone. "I can tell you this: there comes a time in your life, when you've got to come to terms with the fact that no matter what you do, or where you go, or who you're with, nothing really ever changes. You are who you are, and that is who you are going to be for the rest of your bloody life."

Scarlett wiped a tear away angrily. He was right of course. Nothing would bloody ever change.

Jack seemed to sense she was troubled and reached over and pulled her back down next to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Tell me about this Edmund," he said gently.

So, curled up next to him, in the soft shadows of that narrow room, Scarlett told her tale, one she'd vowed never to tell a soul.

"He was the son of the overseer at the plantation I was sent to. I'd seen him around, riding out with his father or walking with a young lady. Never paid him much mind, actually."

Scarlett's mind drifted back in time, to those long lonely nights she'd cried herself to sleep, alone in a strange, wild country. Her younger sisters had been sent to a family up in Boston; Scarlett never saw them again. Isolated, with no family or friends and starving for affection, it was only natural that she had fallen hard for the first bit of kindness shown to her.

"We met by accident. I had gone to fetch water for the day. It was early enough the grass was still wet from the dew and I fell, twisted my ankle something fierce." She swallowed, her throat tightening with the same tears she had shed that day. "I was terrified I'd be reprimanded for returning late. Stumbled along as best I could, crying the whole way."

She smiled into the darkness. "Edmund came riding up on his horse, took pity and offered me a ride back to the house.

Jack rolled over to her, peering at her face, his eyes intent with understanding. "Like a knight in shining armor, eh?" He drew her close, settling her head against the crook of his neck.

"How old were you and Edmund?" he asked softly.

Scarlett's voice caught in her throat. "I had just turned fourteen. Edmund was, I guess at that time he were around twenty." She sat up once again and wiped away a tear, angry both at her own foolishness, and at Jack for reminding her.

Jack didn't comment, instead he reached out and did something odd. He took her hand and balled it into a fist. "Makes you want to hit something, aye?"

Scarlett turned to him, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. "I thought I loved him. He took me, used me and discarded me when I didn't amuse him any more." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I made myself a vow, a promise on my mum's grave. I'd never, ever allow another man to hurt me in that way again," she finished in a voice hardened with resolve.

She jutted out her chin, waving a hand around at her present life. "I'll never be a fool for a man again. Not even for you, Jack Sparrow."

He smiled and pulled her gently down next to him. Stroking her cheek with the back of his hand, he had cupped her face in his palm and kissed her tenderly. "No worries, luv. Your secret's safe with me."


	4. Tis Much More Better To Give

Title: 'Tis Much More Better to Give…  
Rating: M (suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack / Giselle / Scarlett  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with him

Summary: Giselle asks a favor of Jack. He agrees to help…on one condition.

'**Tis Much More Better to Give…**

--

Giselle hummed softly to herself as she tied the festive ribbon around the brightly colored package. A brand new sewing kit was inside, complete with a colorful selection of threads, as well as an assortment of scissors, needles, and other odd-shaped items with even odder names. Mr. Beasley, who owned the haberdashery shop directly below the room she shared with Scarlett, insisted that all the items in question were essential and would surely delight the lucky lady receiving such a splendid and thoughtful gift.

"Splendid as in expensive," Giselle had commented, but bought the kit in spite of her reservations, with coins she had been saving for the occasion. Scarlett's birthday was the following week and even though she'd made Giselle swear not to tell a soul, that didn't mean she wouldn't be pleased with a gift.

"Not to mention the fact," Giselle thought ruefully, "I sorta owe her a new one anyways. Can't help it if she left hers sitting on the windowsill. Was only trying to get the bloomin' thing open, to let in a breeze. How was I supposed to know it'd fall out?"

"Now look what you've done!" Scarlett had screeched, hurrying down the outside stairs to the street below.

Giselle had followed at a much slower pace, not eager to face her roommate's wrath. She'd found Scarlett standing in the street holding up the remains of her sewing kit, mud running down both her arms.

"It took me a month to save up for these and now look! Ruined!"

Giselle had avoided her eyes, bending down to rescue a piece of lace from the muck. She bit her lip as she tried to think of something to say that would smooth the situation.

"I'll buy you a new one!" she'd finally settled on, smiling brightly as she held out the brown-stained bit of lace. "A better one!"

Scarlett just grabbed the lace with an irritated heave of her bosom. "You'd never be able to save enough. You barely make the rent as it is."

Giselle protested but secretly had to agree. It seemed there was always something she needed whenever she managed to scrape two coins together.

"I'll just work harder," she'd thought resolutely, and trudged her way back up the stairs behind the ramrod straight back of her obviously displeased roommate.

So, when Giselle had heard the following day that the _Black Pearl_ had made port, she decided to seek out Jack and see if he could drum her up a little business.

Little did she know the Pandora's Box she was opening…

--

"Giselle!" Jack was exuberant as ever in his greeting, flashing a gold-rimmed grin before sweeping her along with him towards the nearest tavern. "You've come all the way to the docks, just to welcome me back! You're as thoughtful as you are lovely."

Giselle smiled at him, tempted to leave him with that thought. Instead, she blurted out her reason for finding him. "Jack, I need you…"

"That's why I'm here, darling," he interrupted, smiling as he curled an arm around her waist. "Just let me get me men settled and we can get to that bit of needin' you're needin'."

Giselle pulled away and put her hands on her hips. "Not _that_ needin', you ninny. I need yer help."

Jack's face fell. "Oh." But then he immediately brightened. "Help, you say? Well, luv, you've come to the right man." Then, as if finally realizing what she'd said, he paused, raising a finger to his open mouth. "What sort of help you needin'?" he asked cautiously, cocking his head slightly and squinting at her. "Are you in trouble?" He suddenly went serious as another thought occurred to him. "Am _I_ in trouble? Are you…?" he pantomimed with his hands a bulging belly.

Giselle laughed and put her arm through his as they resumed walking up the street. "No, Jack, not _that_ sort of trouble. It's just that, well I need to buy someone something and I'm skint broke as always and I was wondering…"

"Ah!" Jack grinned with a sigh of relief. "So it is_ that_ sort of needin', you're needin'. And in that needin', my needin' could easily be needed, so your needin' can be met. Savvy?"

Giselle found herself nodding, not sure exactly what she'd just agreed to. But it was a start, at least.

The tavern was its usual tangle of jostling bodies, and finding a table proved to be a more difficult task than expected. Jack finally located one crammed against the back wall, between a boisterous group playing cards and another one wagering bets on everything from throwing knives to throwing up; the perfect location to have a private business conversation.

Setting the two tankards down on the grimy surface of the table, Jack plopped down on the bench and patted his knee. "Now, we _could_ just dispense with the preliminaries and get straight to the matter at hand," he paused, demonstrating by running one of his hands along the slim lines of Giselle's figure. "But I've got me another thirst to quench first." He raised his cup and drank deeply, setting it back down with an "Ahh!" and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Giselle was snuggled on his lap, being somewhat necessary, since there was little room for her to sit elsewhere. Seeing as how Jack's lap was one of her favorites, there was no quarrel there; she could think of much worse places to sit. Sipping her own drink she tried to explain what she needed.

"Jack, I need you to help me get a sewing kit."

Jack paused, tankard halfway to his lips. "Come again?"

"A sewing kit. You know, needles, threads."

Jack set his drink back, with a disappointed look. "_That's_ what you need me help with: bits of ribbon and thread? And here I was thinking you were wanting me help with something else." He set her on her feet and went back to his drink. "Sorry, luv. Not my line of work…unless you're asking me to pilfer one." He waved his hand dismissively towards her.

Giselle frowned. This wasn't going right at all.

Loud shouts came from the table on her left, the card game turning into a brawl, with accusations of cheating followed by a mad tumble of men across the floor. Twisting to avoid the melee, she ended up back in Jack's lap. _Time for negotiations_.

At that moment, a familiar figure came bobbing through the crowd, ricocheting his way across the room, with a bottle of rum in each hand and a wide grin on his face.

"Mister Gibbs! I see you found a buyer for our goods, aye?"

Gibbs sank down on the bench and beamed. "Aye, Cap'n. Feller bought the lot. Paid top price without question. Knew we'd find a market for all them…"

Jack hastily interrupted his quartermaster. "Good job! Well, this calls for a celebration."

Gibbs nodded at Giselle perched on Jack's knee and waggled his eyebrows. "Seems t' me you've already started."

Jack gave Giselle a pat on the rear. "A damsel in distress what needed rescuing."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows even higher. "From what, Cap'n?"

Jack leaned forward and said in a conspirical whisper, "Lack of thread." He sat back with a satisfied smirk, eyes twinkling.

Gibbs didn't move, only sat there, with his mouth open as he tried to process the information.

Giselle knew she was being poked fun at, but bristled anyways. "Fine pair of gents you are! Girl tries to get some help and what does she get? Laughed at." She stood up indignantly, her cheeks hot, resisting the urge to slap the smirk off of Jack's face.

Gibbs blinked and leaned closer to his captain. "Are they all like this when they run out of thread?"

Jack glanced over at her, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "In my wide and varied experiences with the finer sex, I have found there to be only one other calamity that strikes as much terror into their ample, and I must add agreeable, breasts."

Gibbs eyes widened in anticipation. "And what might that be, Cap'n?"

"Lack of frocks."

"Of which you promised me two new ones," Giselle pointed out, arms crossed and toe tapping.

Jack buried his nose in his tankard, studiously avoiding her eyes.

"I ain't askin' for nothin' I ain't willin' t' work for," she added. "I was hopin' maybe you might be able to find me a bit of business, you know, maybe refer a few gents my way. If yer not wantin' t' help, fine. I'll go ask that lot over there." She turned and pointed at the table next to them, where a group of unsavory men were engaged in a highly vocal match of arm wrestling.

Jack raised an eyebrow and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back down on his lap. "Why didn't you just say that, darling? Of course ol' Jack'll find you a few willin' gents. I'll send you me whole bloody crew if you want. Be able to buy you loads of thread when you're through."

He gave a wicked grin and pulled out a handful of coins. "Starting with this gent over here. On me." He slapped down the coins on the table and tilted his head towards Gibbs, who about choked on his mouthful of rum.

"Why that's mighty generous of you, Cap'n, but you ought t' take the first go. I'll just save yer place here."

"No, no, Mister Gibbs. You first. I insist."

Giselle looked back and forth between the two of them, not sure if they were still poking fun or serious.

Jack finally sighed and gave his quartermaster a long -suffering look. "If you _insist_, Mister Gibbs. But I expect t' find you here when I return, not off gallivanting with one of those wide-bowed, broad-sterned wenches you seem to fancy. Giselle here needs our help and it t'would be a shame to let her down. Savvy?"

"Aye, Cap'n." Gibbs gave Jack an anxious look before returning to his examination of the inside of his mug.

--

"Man's positively terrified of you," Jack said later, sweat glistening on his forehead and bare chest. "Been wantin' to approach you for ages. Can't get up the nerve, though I'm supposin' he can get up other things."

Giselle pulled her gown on and looked over at him sprawled naked on the narrow bed, one leg dangling over the edge, an arm beneath his head, looking quite comfortable.

_And making no move to leave._

"No reason for him t' be scared of me," Giselle replied, her voice muffled by the pins in her mouth. She finished fixing her hair and stood to go. "You planning on paying for another go or what?"

Jack shifted slightly in the bed and gave her a crooked grin. "As tempting a proposition that might be, I have a much more better one for you."

Giselle gave him a suspicious look. "Much more better?"

"Aye. I've always heard 'tis much more better to give…"

Giselle snorted. "I thought yer motto was, 'Take what you can, give nothin' back'!"

Jack nodded. "Aye, the Pirate's code, which also includes a clause regardin' takin' care of your less fortunate brethren, compensating them for what they're missing – arm, leg, eye."

Giselle was unclear what Jack was trying to say; the night was still young and she didn't have time to listen to one of his elaborate explanations.

"What does this have to do with anything?"

Jack sat up and gave her a serious look. "I happen to have a member of me crew that is in need of some serious compensating. Seems his more _pertinent_ parts go missing, at times."

Giselle headed for the door. "Well, you best be getting dressed and go tend to him then. I wish I could dally, but _I_ have t' earn a living."

"I'll pay you for the whole night," he called, his words stopping her in her tracks. "Ought t' be enough for a bloody cartload of thread."

Giselle smiled. A whole night! No wonder he wasn't getting dressed. Girl could do much worse than a spending the whole night with…

"Mister Gibbs will surely appreciate it."

Giselle thoughts were interrupted with a jerk. "Mister Gibbs?" she echoed.

Jack was nodded vigorously, his beads and trinkets clattering. "Man has this ungodly, and totally unhealthy habit, of choosing the worse sort of woman to keep company with. Bleh!" Jack grimaced and stuck out his tongue. "Can't see how Gibbs can abide touching one of 'em. Though, I supposed you don't have t' technically touch one," he added in a thoughtful voice, "Especially if they're doing the touching. Yet, nevertheless, I feel it is my duty, as captain and purveyor of fortune, to find him a more alluring and appealing female to help him overcome this sad affliction of his. Man is terrified to even approach a wench as lovely as you; gets all quivery when I mention it."

Giselle was standing by the door, mouth open, watching Jack pace around the room, still naked, hands expressively embellishing his words. She had no qualms about entertaining Gibbs, but was stunned that Jack was willing to pay for an entire evening. T'wasn't like Jack at all.

"What do _you_ get out of this?" she asked him suspiciously. She knew Jack better than this; he wasn't usually this magnanimous. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember a time when he'd ever been that way.

He stopped in front of her and brushed a wisp of hair off her cheek, lightly running his finger along her jaw. "The satisfaction of seeing a good mate of mine enjoy his birthday." He grinned slyly. "Same thing you're getting out of that sewing thingie you are so adamant on getting Scarlett."

Giselle's mouth gaped. "Why I never! How did you…?"

Jack gave her a big grin and spread his arms wide. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow! Savvy?" He dropped his arms to his side. "And, Scarlett told me what happened to her old one. Put two and two together and Bob's your uncle, Fannie's your aunt, there you are! Never saw you as the type to be spending your time bent over a needle."

Giselle started to protest.

"Don't worry," he added hastily, "I won't ruin your surprise." He retrieved his clothes and donned them. Bending down to pull on his boots he paused and asked, "Will you do it?"

Giselle sighed. She'd rather have entertained Jack, but she did need the money. And he did seem sincere. "Sure, Jack. Why not? Mister Gibbs is about the only member of your crew I _haven't_ entertained. Should be interesting."

Jack paused, straightening slowly. "You've been with _all_ of them?"

"Well, not at the same time," she snapped, impatiently. "Jack, it's what I do for a living, remember?"

Jack sat back down on the side of the bed, obviously troubled. "Mister Cotton?" he asked looking up, hesitantly.

Giselle smiled. A really sweet gent, she'd taken him in one night when he was down on his luck…. before he'd joined Jack's crew. "Yes; his parrot mutters. Did you know that? And watches, too. Rather unnerving."

Jack's face twitched, either from trying not to laugh or trying to envision Giselle with the old geezer. "And Marty?" he inquired, almost fearfully

"Just because a man is short, doesn't mean he's not able." And that shortness proved an interesting twist to the evening. She had even learned a few new tricks that night.

Jack shook his head in dismay, apparently having never thought of his crew enjoying the same privileges as he when it came to the wenches.

Swallowing, he stood. "Well then, no worries, eh?" he announced, brightly. "You and Gibbs should get along splendidly."

--

It took some prodding on Jack's part, and wheedling on Giselle's, but eventually, she found her alone in the room with Mister Gibbs.

"Remember, the night is young. Make sure to pace yourself." Jack's parting words had only served to make the poor man more nervous.

Once upstairs, Gibbs stood just inside the doorway, with a look of terror on his face. Giselle had made sure to bring a bottle of rum; it appeared they were going to need it.

Gibbs' body went rigid as she approached and ran a practiced hand up his arm. "What would you like to do?"

He swallowed. "Perhaps we oughtta have a drink," he said rather hoarsely. "And get t' know one another a bit first."

Giselle shrugged. She was used to all sorts – some wanted to talk, some wanted to sing (those were the most difficult). Most just wanted to get what they paid for and get back to drinking. Gibbs, well… it wasn't definite, but he looked like he wanted to run the other way.

She poured them each a cup of rum and handed him one. He slumped down in the only chair and took several quick gulps, leaving Giselle to perch herself on the edge of the bed. That move seemed to only make her companion even more nervous.

"So, whatcha want t' talk about?" She figured to try to get him to relax…somehow. "I know, tell me what's it like sailin' with Jack."

Gibbs took another swallow, rolling his eyes in relief. "Jack's a fair captain. Never asks the boys to do nothin' he'd not do himself. Treats 'em right, feeds 'em well, generous with the rum. A good man."

Giselle sighed. That life seemed so exciting, so adventurous. She would love to be able to sail away from the squalor, and despair and filth of Tortuga. Yet, all those seafarin' gents seemed to love comin' back here.

"So why do all the gents love Tortuga so?"

Gibbs raised his bushy brows and opened him mouth to respond then clamped it shut. "For the scenery, mostly," he mumbled, looking away sheepishly.

Giselle laughed. "That's a good one! Been called many things before, but never been called that! Scenery. Gonna have to remember that one." She was still chuckling when she realized that Gibbs was looking quite mortified.

She rose and walked behind him and wrapped her arms around him. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she ran a hand down the front of his shirt, playing lightly with the curls on his chest. He stiffened slightly and she sighed. Jack was right. Poor Gibbs needed more than compensation. "Jack told me I was t' show you a good time. Don't you want to play?"

"I'd rather play cards."

Giselle blinked. Straightening, she stepped around and peered into the man's frozen features. "Cards?"

Gibbs swallowed took another large gulp "No offense, miss," he blurted out. "You're lovely; prettier than any other wench I've seen. That's the trouble I'm a-having: you look just like my sister's Nina."

"Nina?"

"Aye, Nina. Uncle Josh she calls me."

"Uncle Josh."

"Aye."

"I see. We _do_ have a bit of a problem, don't we?"

"Aye."

--

"Wonder how Mister Gibbs is makin' out," Jack mused aloud, glancing up at the ceiling with a smirk.

"Past that point by now," Marty grunted, dealing the cards.

"Past that point and passed out, probably. Told him to pace himself." Jack chuckled and took a peek at his hand.

Marty just grunted again.

--

"Your deal." Giselle yawned. "I'm about done in."

Gibbs picked up the rum bottle and tipped it upside down. A single drop plopped onto the table. "Rum's gone too." He looked at the door. "Reckon it's been long enough?"

Giselle smiled sleepily at him. "Yeah, Jack must have figured we've done all we could do, by now."

Gibbs gave her a grateful smile. "Best keep this our little secret." He yawned as well and rose to leave. "Appreciate you not havin' no hard feelings."

Giselle shrugged and hooked her arm into his. "I enjoyed myself. Really. But remember, if you ever change yer mind, I owe you."

They made their way through the tavern, much quieter by that hour of the night, weaving through the assorted drunks draped over tables and passed out on the floor. They found Jack at the back of the room, asleep on the bench.

Gibbs winked at Giselle. "Maybe you oughtta take 'em back to the room," he suggested, quietly "Man paid fer it, might as well get _some_ use out of the bed."

She bent down and whispered in Jack's ear, one eye opening.

"Done already?" he mumbled sleepily. "Told 'em to pace himself."

Giselle smiled and winked broadly at Gibbs." Oh, he did. Best time I've had in ages."

--

True to his word, Jack did not spoil her surprise. Scarlett was thrilled when she opened her present and saw the beautiful new sewing kit. In a very unusual display of emotion, tears sprang to her eyes and she ran over and hugged Giselle.

"This is wonderful! Look at all these! How did you ever afford this?"

Giselle smiled and thought back to 'the night of cards', as she fondly referred to it. "Had some help from some old friends," she said simply.

Scarlett squealed with delight like a young girl as she removed each item. "Oh look! There are scissors, and thread winders," Scarlett exclaimed, her nose deep in the basket. "And bobbins and bodkins!"

Giselle snorted silently to herself. _Bobbins and bodkins – sounded like a team of mules._

"This is the nicest gift I've ever received!" Scarlett had tears in her eyes as she sat back, her bits and bobs surrounding her. "I don't know how to thank you!"

Giselle shrugged. "Least I could do, seeing I ruined the last one. Just wanted to see you have something nice for yer birthday."

She laid back on the bed, listening to Scarlett's joy at the gift she'd received and smiled. Jack was right, after all. It _was_ much more better to give…


	5. A Stitch in Time

Title: A Stitch in Time  
Rating: M (suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack / Giselle / Scarlett / Gibbs  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with him

Summary: How _did_ Jack come by that scar on his… Gibbs knows, but ain't tellin'

**A Stitch in Time**

--

"Hold still, Jack!" Scarlett brow furrowed with concentration as she bent over the recalcitrant pirate. "I know it hurts, but you're not helping matters by moving about like that."

Jack mumbled a drunken response. Gibbs and Giselle had been steadily plying him with rum since they'd arrived, imbibing in their own fair share, as well. Scarlett, the only sober one in the room, drew a deep breath, and returned to the task at hand.

This wasn't the first time Scarlett's handiness with a needle had been called upon, but it was certainly the toughest. She had stitched up men before, and some women for that matter, but those had just been simple gashes caused mostly by broken glass. It seemed at least once a week, some damn fool would get smashed over the head, or elsewhere, by some irate, bottle-wielding drunk.

Jack's wound was much deeper, and more serious than those. A long knife wound, running the length of his thigh, the wielder of this weapon had meant business. Complicating matters, her emotional attachment to her patient was making Scarlett's hands shake.

"Whatever possessed you to take on three at a time?" she scolded, angry with Jack for both his foolishness and for frightening her so.

"How's I t' know the bugger weren't alone," Jack slurred, leaning back against the wall, his head lolling to one side.

"Well, it's a miracle you didn't bleed to death in that alley." Scarlett went back to her task, stitching the wound closed as best she could, silently thankful that he had not done that very thing.

--

The evening had been slow, the taverns half empty. Scarlett decided to retire early, Giselle opting to stay a while longer. She hoped to turn at least one more trick, as she was skint broke, again. It turned out to be a fortunate decision, as she encountered a distraught Gibbs on her way back to her room above the haberdashery.

"Mister Gibbs! When did you make port?" Her smiled faded as she saw the panic on his face. "What's the matter?"

"Mother's love, it's Jack. He's been cut something fierce and refusing t' let me or anyone else near 'im..."

Giselle's gut twisted inside at the news. "Where is he?"

"Over here," he said, gesturing to a doorway. "He's bleedin' like t' perish. I bound it best I could but he's gonna need it stitched up."

Stitching! Giselle knew just the person for the job.

The two of them had half dragged, half carried Jack the short distance to the room she shared with Scarlett, a place ordinarily off limits to men. Scarlett took one look at Jack's ashen face and gestured them inside.

"I'll need some water and clean rags," she told Giselle. "And my sewing kit."

Giselle hurried to fetch the box, proud of the fact her gift would be put to good use. She had bought the kit (with a little help from Jack) for Scarlett as a birthday present. A frivolous item, one Giselle would never understand the need for…until now.

"Mister Gibbs, we'll need some rum." Scarlett was all business. "Jack, we'll need to get these breeches off."

Jack, his face white from pain and loss of blood, still managed to smile crookedly. "Never argue with a woman wants to take your breeches off," he slurred to his quartermaster before collapsing onto the bed in a dead faint.

"Is he dead?" Giselle asked in a worried voice.

Gibbs shook his head. "Just passed out. Probably for the best."

Giselle chatted nervously to Gibbs as Scarlett tended Jack's wound. "Gonna leave a scar," she commented, "t' go with all them others he's got."

Gibbs nodded. "Many a tale could be told by them scars. Take for instance that one on his right shoulder. Got that one while boardin' a French merchantman-- the second time."

"Second?" Giselle passed the rum bottle to him and settled down to listen.

"Aye. See it were like this…" Gibbs settled in as well, taking a large swallow before resuming his tale. "We caught sight of her earlier that day, a fat merchantman, ridin' low in the water. The Cap'n had ordered us to follow 'til we could make out her colors. Once we were a-certain she were French, he gave the order and the chase was on. The winds were in our favor, so we caught up with her about mid-afternoon. Fired a friendly warning shot across her bow, just t' let her know we meant business. Ran up the flag and brought the _Pearl_ 'round to board. The crew of that merchantman didn't even put up a fight. Had them a hold full of goods, including casks of rum and cases of fine wine. We loaded it all in the _Pearl_, thanked the French cap'n for his generosity and bid them farewell. Without a shot being fired."

He sat back, a content smile on his face.

Perched on the edge of her seat, Giselle listened with rapt attention as Gibbs recalled the events, and then frowned.

"That's it?"

"Aye."

"Then how'd Jack get that scar, if there weren't no fightin'?" Giselle asked, in a puzzled voice.

Gibbs leaned forward and said in a low voice, "Well, let me tell you. We'd all returned to the _Pearl _and were makin' ready to sail, when Jack, he remembers he'd forgot somethin' on the other ship. He'd snuck back over and was just coming out of the hold when they caught 'im."

Giselle gasped, a hand to her mouth.

Gibbs nodded. "Jack had him an armful of ladies' gowns, and when they tried to grab him, he'd flung that pile of frocks at 'em and made a run for it. The French crew, they got all tangled up in all that silk and lace, and it looked as if Jack would get away free and clear. But just as he were grabbin' the rope to swing back to the _Pearl_ one of 'em fired his pistol. Caught Jack square in the shoulder."

Gibbs shook his head. "Jack was more angry 'bout leavin' them frocks behind then bein' shot. Never did tell me what he wanted 'em for."

Giselle sat back, mouth agape.

_So that's what happened._

She glanced over at the pirate sprawled across the bed. She owed him a big apology when he woke up. Another thought crossed her mind and she turned back to Gibbs.

"So, how'd he get the squiggly one?"

Gibbs face reddened slightly. "You mean the one…"

"On his arse." She finished the sentence for him, well acquainted with Jack's body. "He ever tell you how he come by it?"

"Aye." Gibbs turned even a deeper shade of red. "Perhaps we oughtta let the Cap'n tell that tale," he mumbled.

Giselle laughed, looking over at Jack again. "I can only imagine the story behind that one!"

Scarlett washed her hands and joined the two of them. "Well, that's done. Best leave him 'til morning, let him sleep. Did what I could, going to leave a nasty scar, though." She sank wearily down in the chair and poured herself a cup of rum.

"We was just talking 'bout scars. Gibbs here was gonna tell me about how Jack got the squiggly one."

"On his arse?" Scarlett was also well acquainted with Jack's body.

Gibbs stood up unsteadily and beat a hasty retreat towards the door. "I'll just be goin' now, ladies. I'll come fetch Jack in the mornin'." He scurried out the door before they could ask him any more questions.

--

Jack woke at dawn with a throbbing headache and only a vague recollection of the night before. To his amazement, he found himself lying diagonally across a bed, clad only in his shirt, a length of cloth wrapped around one leg, and what turned out to be Scarlett draped across the other. A glance to his right found the other wench asleep in a chair next to the bed, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow, a hand curled up in his.

Any ideas of amusement were dashed as soon as he made an attempt to move. Groaning loudly, he woke both women with his yelp of pain. "Bugger! What the bloody hell did you two do to me?"

Scarlett sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Saved yer life, most likely," she said irritably.

"Fine way to thank us," groused Giselle, yawning widely. "Gibbs ought to be along shortly to collect you," she added, stretching.

"Would figure Mister Gibbs had a hand in this," Jack grumbled, laying back.

Scarlett stood up and straightened her skirts. "If it weren't for Mister Gibbs, you'd likely have bled to death in that alley. Don't you remember?"

"Last I remember was leaving the tavern with a wench…" Jack started to explain and then shut it abruptly.

The two women narrowed their eyes at him. "Which tavern? We didn't see you or any of yer crew all evening."

Jack avoided their eyes and tried once more to gingerly sit up, only to have the room spin wildly and his head pound as if to explode. Helpless, he sank back down on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to think of a plausible story to tell the two. After all, it weren't as if he _had_ to visit them each time they made port in Tortuga, and last night was supposed to be just a quick in and out, to drop off a special consignment of goods. It had seemed prudent, at the time, to stay down by the docks, at the less reputable (as if anything in Tortuga could be considered so) and anonymous ale houses along the waterfront.

He opened one eye gingerly, to find the two women staring at him.

_Not good. _

Jack tried one of his most disarming smiles, in an attempt to appeal to their softer nature.

_Well, that didn't work. _

The two continued to glare at him. He struggled to his feet and looked around for his breeches.

"They needed to be washed and mended." Scarlett commented. "And you're in no condition to go anywhere."

Jack sat back down, hissing slightly as his leg began to throb as severely as his head.

_Well, a man couldn't rightly go anywhere without his breeches. _

Resigning himself to an unexpected layover, he reclined on the bed.

_It could be worse. I could be dead._

Not much later, death began to appear to be the preferable option.

"Mister Gibbs was telling us the most fascinating stories last night," Giselle said brightly, too brightly for this early in the morning. Jack groaned, wishing he had some rum…or some silence.

Giselle didn't seem to notice, continuing to prattle on like some persistent little bird, chirping away at his sanity.

"So there we were, watching Scarlett sewing up yer leg, and I said to Mister Gibbs, 'Why, that's gonna leave a nasty scar' and he goes on about how scars can tell tales and begins to tell me the most exciting story about the French ship and the frocks and how you were shot trying to get them…"

Jack winced.

_She would bring up those bloody frocks again. Damn wench was worse than a starvin' dog with a bone, worrying about them bloody frocks. 'Bout near got killed over 'em. _

Jack was only half listening to Giselle until she mentioned the OTHER scar.

"…and then I asked Gibbs about the squiggly one, you know, the one right there on your…"

Jack sat up abruptly, causing his head to pound and eyes to cross.

_How much rum DID they force upon me? Bugger. Head a-pounding and no breeches and woman talking a blue streak…seemed to be getting his fair share of torture without bringing up the OTHER scar. Just didn't seem fair. Who'd she think he was…Job?_

"…and then Gibbs told me to ask you, seeing how he didn't feel all that comfortable telling us about what happened to your…"

"Stow it!"

Giselle stopped in mid-sentence, mouth open in surprise.

"What happened to my _derriere_ is between me and my…"

"Arse." Scarlett finally put in a word. "You are an arse, Jack Sparrow. Trying to get yourself killed, arguing with Giselle here when you should be resting."

Jack glared at her. He didn't need a mother. He just needed his breeches back. Cover up his…"

"Dearie?" Giselle had a puzzled look on her face. "You call your arse your _dearie_?" She shook her head. "What'ya call yer other parts?"

Jack was spared any further discussion along these lines by a knock on the door. Mister Gibbs stood there, looking far less chipper than the women; he gave them both a nod as he passed.

"Cap'n, it'd be best if we were to slip out of port real quiet like," he said in a low voice. "Seems that feller that took a dislikin' to you last night is wantin' to continue the conversation, if you get my drift."

Jack grimaced at the news. From what he DID remember, this other feller was about twice as tall and broader than the two of them put together. Putting the town to their rudder seemed an excellent plan.

"A wise, and might I add, prudent idea, Mister Gibbs, and one I would be willin' to act upon immediately, exceptin' for one small problem." He turned to Scarlett and grinned. "I need me breeches back."

Scarlett finished the last stitch and snipped the thread with her shiny new scissors. "Here's your bloomin' breeches, Jack Sparrow. Least you could do is say 'thank you'."

Jack stood up gingerly, keeping his weight off his wounded leg, as he clumsily pulled them on. Grabbin' his effects, he bent down and gave Giselle a quick kiss, Scarlett a longer one, told them both 'thank you' and bolted out the door.

When Gibbs caught up with him in the street, Jack hobbled alongside him without speaking for several minutes. Finally, he turned to his quartermaster with a curious scowl.

"How'd you come to know about that scar?"

Gibbs had the decency to redden slightly and cleared his throat. "I were just comin' off watch. Heard you hollerin' and ran to see if you needin my help. Seeing the situation, I figured it best if I just let you handle it yerself."

"Bloody monkey," Jack muttered. "Suppose it could've been worse."

"Aye. Could of bit your…"

"Aye." Jack agreed. "Could have ended up a eunuch."


	6. In No Position To Argue

Title: In No Position to Argue  
Rating: M (suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack, Giselle, Scarlett, Gibbs  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with them

Summary: Jack has something very special to show his two favorite wenches.

**In No Position to Argue**

--

The residents of Tortuga sweltered under the Caribbean sun as the long summer day crawled by. Out in the bay, only a handful of vessels lay moored, a tattered collection of patched fishing shallops and sloops. The usually crowded docks were devoid of activity, the locals wisely avoiding the midday sun. Earlier that morning, a sudden squall had blown in from the sea, offering a temporary relief to the oppressive heat, before departing almost as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the stench from the muddy streets hanging heavy in the sultry air.

Giselle sat next to the window in the narrow room she shared with Scarlett. Stripped down to her chemise, she fanned herself while staring disconsolately towards the distant harbor, shimmering under the blazing sun. It had been weeks since a ship of any size had made port, and pickings had been slim indeed. It seemed most of the larger vessels had departed the area to ply their trade among the English colonies to the north, avoiding the summer storm season. Now, with what scant savings they had pooled together virtually depleted, both Scarlett and Giselle were beginning to worry.

"It's so bloomin' hot I can't breathe," Giselle said, peevishly.

Her roommate laid on the bed, similarly stripped of clothes, with a wet cloth across her forehead. "Not sure you want to be breathin' that stench." She waved vaguely toward the window and beyond, encompassing the entire town in her assessment.

Giselle sighed and resumed her gloomy surveillance of the harbor. She sat up abruptly and squealed. "A ship…with black sails!"

Scarlett scrambled to her feet and rushed to the window, elbowing Giselle aside for a better view. "The _Black Pearl_!" she exclaimed.

The two watched as the black ship rounded the point and began to tack in toward shore. Then, as if on cue, they hurried to get dressed. With the pickings as slim as they'd been, every whore in Tortuga would be descending on the docks. Best to be at the front of the pack.

--

"Cap'n!" Gibbs motioned to the shore from the quarterdeck.

Jack turned to see what had caused such an odd tone of voice from his quartermaster, his gaze following Gibbs' rigid arm. To his surprise, and somewhat dismay, the wharf was lined with over two dozen of Tortuga's finest, and not so finest, ladies of the night…. in broad daylight…. waving.

"Figure they're here on a friendly visit?" Jack scanned the line of women apprehensively. _Never had such a large a welcome before. Come to think of it, never seen that many wenches in one place either._

"I reckon they're safe enough." Gibbs was staring wide-eyed at the dock at the competitive jostling for position that was taking place. Several of the women were now pushing and shoving, and shrill squealing floating across the water. One of the largest women teetered on the edge of the pier, and then fell off, disappearing into the water with a loud splash.

The _Pearl_ had tacked in close enough to allow her crew, who were lining the rail with mouths agape, to watch the hapless victim thrashing about in the water.

"You goin' t' save 'er?" one of the men asked their captain pointedly. "None of us here can swim."

Jack sighed as he peered at the enormous flailing body and cringed. With no other immediate options available, and being the good man that he was – bloody burden, that-- he quickly removed his effects and dove neatly into the blue water of the bay. By the time he reached the area, the wench was nowhere to be seen. A flurry of activity above his head greeted him, high-pitched voices all shouting in alarmed unison, fingers pointed towards a patch of swirling water.

Taking a deep breath, Jack dove beneath the water, locating the hapless woman a few feet below. He tugged and struggled until he was able to reach the surface, towing his cargo to the dock where he propped her against the ladder, too winded to lift her incredible bulk onto the planks.

Above his head, a loud twittering of female voices was rising and falling along with the amble bosom floating in front of him. Jack, taking a moment to catch his breath, marveled at the buoyancy of the pair. _'Twas a wonder the wench had sunk at all. Must have been all that ballast in the stern._

Gibbs hollered from somewhere to his right. Turning his head, Jack saw his quartermaster feverishly rowing toward him in one of the _Pearl's_ boats.

"Sally!" Gibbs exclaimed in loud enthusiasm, as the longboat pulled alongside. "The Saints be praised, Cap'n. You reached her in time."

The aforementioned Sally chose that moment to open her eyes. "You saved me life, lovey!" She wrapped her arms around Jack's neck and planted a big kiss on his lips, catching him off guard, the weight of her body plunged them both underwater once more. After much flailing and splashing, they finally re-emerged, coughing and gasping for breath.

"Mister Gibbs!" Jack sputtered, gallantly trying to keep his head above water as what appeared to be a perfectly hale and hearty wench clung to his neck. "Take this, this…"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Gibbs hastily interrupted, grabbing the buxom wench under the arms and hauling her into the boat. The prospect of joining her sodden mass of gown and petticoats in the boat struck him as so unappealing, Jack had no recourse but to face the throng of admiring women peering down at him from the dock.

Now, Jack was not averse to having the women of Tortuga, or elsewhere for that matter, casting amorous eyes his way. But the sheer _number_ of eyes staring at him, at the moment, was rather disconcerting. Dozens of arms stretched and reached for him as he climbed wearily up the ladder, as the women descended on him like a flock of raucous gulls.

_Help?_

Elbowing her way through the throng was a familiar face, another hot on her heels. Reaching him, they batted the others away as each of them grabbed an arm.

"Scarlett! Giselle!" Jack was never so happy to see the pair in his life.

--

As it turned out, the _Black Pearl_ was going to be in port for near a fortnight, to be resupplied and refitted, as well as attending some minor repairs. The town welcomed the men with open arms, elevating even the lowliest to near celebrity status. The crew couldn't have been more pleased, and the rum flowed as freely as the gold, the wenches partaking of a fair share of both.

Jack sat at the back of the _Faithful Bride_, his erstwhile rescuers on either side of him, with a smile of satisfaction gracing his face as he surveyed his crew enjoying their newfound fame. Who'd have thought a sudden storm and an unexpected layover would have resulted in such a boon?

Once they had freed Jack from the clutches of the other women, Scarlett and Giselle had begun vying for his individual attention. Unable to choose one without insulting the other (the threat of bodily harm also being a real possibility), Jack had settled on the simplest of solutions: choose both.

Always eager to learn new things, Giselle had been game for the idea; Scarlett was reluctant, to say the least.

_Pity, really_. Jack's mind drifted off into the realm of what might have been, with visions of creamy white and supple limbs draping themselves across his willing and most able body, two pairs of hands and lips…

"Jack! Are you even listening?" The loud shrill in his left ear brought him abruptly back to the present.

"What? Aye. Of course I was listening." He patted Scarlett on the knee, allowing his hand to wander further along her leg until it was slapped away. "You were saying…?"

Scarlett heaved a large sigh. "You said you had something you wanted to show me…us" she repeated slowly and patiently as if he were a small, dense child.

Jack flashed a glittering grin. "Aye, that I do, something extremely special, a rarity so rare, it has rarely been seen, an item of infinite value, a treasure trove of tantalizing treats, a wondrous wonder to be wondered at." He paused and tilted his head in his most engaging manner. "T'would be much more better to show this wonderfully, wondrous item to you two lovely ladies at the same time."

"Come on Scarlett, it'd be fun," urged Giselle, leaning forward. "Not like I ain't seen you naked before."

Scarlett glared her response.

Jack sat up and snapped his fingers. "I've got it!" He wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders. "Seeing as I can't seem t' choose between the two of you," he began sweetly, "being so delightfully, delightful as you both are, I proposed a deal."

The two women eyed him skeptically.

"A deal?" Scarlett repeated.

"Ooh! What sort of deal?" Giselle cooed, the eternal optimist.

Jack, having settled on a solution, smiled. "Simple, really. Seeing how yours truly will be in port for at least a fortnight, I propose you take turns." He sat back with a smug look on his face.

"Turns." Giselle shrugged. "Why not?"

Scarlett tipped her head, uncertain. "What do you mean, turns? You mean one after the other?"

Jack smiled. "Unless, you'd rather have me at the same time."

"You never give up do you?"

Jack spread his arms wide. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, darling."

"I want to go first!" Giselle was also an opportunist.

"See, she's already been with me entire crew," Jack grinned, offering Scarlett an explanation. "Not much mystery left to explore. Take Gibbs there for example…"

He peered through the dimly lit haze of the tavern, where his quartermaster was leaning against the bar, one hand on his mug, the other draped around the very ample shoulders of none other than the recently rescued Sally.

Jack sat back in stupefied amazement. "I could've sworn he'd learned better. Tried to show him the merits of a sleek hull and tight riggin' and what does he do, chases after Full-Sail Sally. Woman could sink a barge. 'Bout near did me in." He shook his head, dumbfounded.

Giselle suddenly found the bottom of her cup very fascinating.

"Well, I for one am not getting any richer sitting here listening to you, Jack Sparrow," Scarlett announced impatiently as she rose. "If you've something so wonderful you wish to share, then pay your coins and let's see it."

"Here? In front of everyone?" Jack gave her a sly grin. "Aye, if you insist." He reached into his pocket and slapped a handful of coins on the table. "For your pleasure ladies, feast your eyes on this!" He reached ever so slowly under the table and pulled out his wondrous gift, placing it on the table with a flourish.

"That's it?" Giselle said in a disappointed voice. "It's not very big."

Jack looked down at the item in question and said with a smirk. "Mostly pictures. Plenty big enough for that."

Scarlett frowned. "You've been going on and on about a _book_?"

"This is not just any book, luv. This is the key to the inner sanctum of fleshly pleasures, a handbook of extraordinary content, the likes rarely seen in the Western world. A glimpse into the mysteries of the Orient, the secrets of the Courtesans."

"Where'da get it?" Giselle asked, squinting curiously.

Scarlett echoed her friend. "Yes, where _did_ you find something so rare and wondrous, Jack?"

"Singapore." He shrugged adding, nonchalantly, "Borrowed it, actually. From a pair of lovely girls who were quite enthusiastic about sharing it with me. Well, until a certain Pirate Lord found out. Had to leave rather abruptly, I did. Didn't realize until I were half way home I had it in me pocket."

"You stole it." Giselle surmised as she reached to peek inside.

Jack grabbed her hand. "Uh-uh…not just yet. You have to agree to the terms."

"And what terms might that be?" Scarlett was standing arms folded, toe tapping, obviously not buying any of Jack's tale.

Jack did a quick calculation in his head. By his figuring, the two weeks in port could be spent just as easily alone as with the company of either woman. The challenge was his fascination. That and the fact that he'd been perusing said book for several weeks now, and was in need of some serious relief, despite having tended to his immediate needs by way of his own palm, on more than one occasion.

Besides, he was still hopeful of persuading the two to agree to a threesome. _A man can always dream._

"What say you to this?" he finally proposed. "I give each of you enough coin for an entire night's entertainment, each of you, for each night. And in return, I get the favors of one, or both of you, for the night, to do as I wish. Only stipulation being I get the use of your room."

He watched as the two women made their own quick calculations, seeing them come to the same conclusions he had, already. If one of them were entertaining Jack, the other could be entertaining the other men, get paid double for the efforts…. in return for use of their room. Seemed a fair deal, no matter what bizarre requests he might make of them.

"Deal!" they said, simultaneously.

"I want to go first," Giselle added.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	7. Compromising Positions

Title: Compromising Positions  
Rating: M (very suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack, Giselle, Scarlett, Gibbs  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with them

Summary: What do you get when you put Jack Sparrow, a willing wench, and an ancient Chinese Sex Handbook together?

**Compromising Positions**

--

"Jack! I think I'm stuck!" Giselle seemed more amused than worried, peering between her legs at him as he quickly flipped pages in the little book.

"Hold up, darling. I know it's in here somewhere." He cocked his head sideways and studied the long-limbed wench, carefully noting the position of her arms and legs.

"Well, will you hurry up? I ain't no bloomin' butterfly… or whatever you called this."

Jack consulted the book and then Giselle, squinting with one eye as he shook his head. "No, belay that! It's all wrong!" he huffed, mildly frustrated. We're supposed to be trying the _Flying Seagulls_ position. Appears like what you've got there is the _Goat Facing a Tree_." He leafed through a few pages and added thoughtfully, "Or perhaps the _Three Year Old Donkey_."

A sudden thump interrupted his thoughts. He looked up from his page thumbing to find Giselle sprawled on the floor after tumbling off the bed. Staring up at the ceiling she sighed. "What were those girls that you stole that from, _contorturests_?"

"Contortionists," Jack quickly corrected. "No, they were just not so… so tall." He grinned at Giselle, arms and legs askew. _Girl was _a_ll legs… like a newborn foal. _

"Ah ha!" Jack declared enthusiastically, stabbing his finger on a page. "I knew I'd find it. _Jumping White Tiger._"

"I thought we were doin' _Flutterin' Butterflies_," Giselle grumbled as she rolled to a sitting position the floor.

"Or is that _Pawing Horse_?" he muttered, unfolding a tattered piece of parchment.

"What happen t' the bloomin' tiger?" Giselle stood up and walked to the table where Jack sat. Leaning against his bare back, she peered over his shoulder at the book before him.

"What's that position called?" she asked, curiously pointing at an illustration.

Jack glanced briefly at the drawing, his eyes darting away. "_Monkey Attack_. Not sure I want to try that one," he grimaced, and quickly turned the page.

Jack squinted at another illustration and consulted the parchment. "Let me see, got the girls t' translate for me. Says here that for _Crouching Dragon_ you're to…"

Giselle wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder as he busily rifled through the book. His body responded to her naked skin pressed against him. Grinning, he pointed downward at himself. "Well, whatever it's called," he said brightly, "looks as if me _Jade Stalk_ is ready."

Giselle looked down with mild interest and giggled. "Is _that_ what you call it?" Her hand trailed playfully downward, teasing. "That's 'bout as good as calling yer arse _dearie_."

Jack rolled his eyes as he grabbed her wandering hand and placed it definitively on his erect member. "Want to do things by the book don't we? See, says here," he read off the piece of parchment, "_Woman_ – that's you –_ lies on back_. _Man_ – that'd be yours truly – _stands in front of bed and raises woman's legs, then thrusts his Jade Stalk deep into the Precious Gate_."

"Ooh! And what position is that?" Giselle's nimble fingers were busy, distracting him from any other thoughts.

With a groan, Jack threw down the book and stood up. Turning, he wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up, tossing her easily on the bed. Seizing her by the ankles, he drew her long legs towards him. "I call it the _Lusting Sparrow_ position," he said, with a glittering grin.

--

The crewmembers of the _Black Pearl_ were exhausted. Never, in all their visits in port, had they been subjected to such undivided attention. It seemed half the bloody town of Tortuga was crowded into the taverns, trying to get the men to part with a bit of their gold. The merchants had taken to bringing samples of their wares to them, hawking everything from belts and hats, to gunpowder and pistol shot. In direct competition were the town's whores, women of every shape, size and favor. There was not a member of the crew, short or old, that didn't have at least two or three wenches tussling over them like a flock of raucous gulls.

Consequently, when Jack finally reappeared, after several days spent in his own lustful pursuits, his crew cornered him demanding he do something. Gibbs, being quartermaster and liaison between crew and commander, approached Jack with their complaints.

"Cap'n," Gibbs stood awkwardly, twisting his hands together, a desperate look in his eyes. "The men, myself included, have been wondering…"

"Well spit it out, Gibbs! Is something the matter? Not enough rum to suit them? Or wenches?" Jack leaned back against the wall of the tavern and took a long swallow from his tankard. He studied the men, standing in a semi-circle behind Gibbs.

_All look too worn to be grieving anything,_ he thought as he surveyed the gathering of them behind Gibbs. _Hell, Cotton and a couple o' those others look like they're asleep in their shoes._

Gibbs cleared his throat and started again. "Well, that's the problem, Cap'n. There be too much of both. Men are plumb worn out."

Jack glanced around to confirm privacy and motioned Gibbs closer. "Have t' admit I'm a might washed-out meself," he said, in a low voice." Perhaps it might be prudent, considerin' the circumstances, if we were to weigh anchor a wee bit earlier than planned. Quiet like, if you get me drift," he finished, with a conspiratorial arching of the brows.

"Aye, Cap'n," Gibbs murmured, clearly relieved." The last of the supplies were stowed this morning. Just be a matter now, of waiting on the tide." Gibbs looked around nervously and added, "Best if we were to sail while the town were abed. Less likely to cause a stir."

"Point taken, Mister Gibbs. We'll sail on the morning's tide."

Jack watched his crew shuffle away, a bevy of wenches following tightly in their wake. Finishing his drink, he followed them out into the street. He had one last item to attend to before sailing.

--

Giselle woke to an empty room. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she curiously glanced around for Jack. It was early; dawn's light barely a hint in the eastern sky. Across the dimly lit room, she noted that Jack's effects were gone… as well as the book, replaced by a cloth pouch weighing down a piece of parchment with florid handwriting.

Giselle picked up both, the purse heavy in her hand. Unable to read, she would have to wait for Scarlett to return to find out the contents of the note. The other was easily determined: gold, more than she'd ever seen at one time. Awestruck she sat down and stared at it, only looking up when the door opened.

"Scarlett! Come see what Jack left!"

Her roommate walked wearily over to the table, glancing first at the coins, then the note.

"Read it to me!"

Scarlett quickly scanned the note, her brow furrowing as she read. She glanced once more at the gold piled on the table and shook her head.

"Well? What does he say?" Giselle asked, excitedly. "Does he say what the gold's for?"

Scarlett nodded and read aloud:

_To the two loveliest wenches in all Tortuga, _

_After enjoying the pleasures of your company these past nights, I leave you both this small token of appreciation. Unforeseen circumstances require I weigh anchor before the culmination of our original accord. To rectify said condition, and to assure you of my sincere intentions when setting forth on this course, I leave you the remainder of the sum agreed upon, in the hopes of resuming this delightful repast upon my return. _

_ Captain Jack Sparrow_

"Well, that's that I suppose," Scarlett said, tossing the note onto the table. "Never known Jack to be so generous before. Wonder what he really wants."

Giselle shrugged. "Perhaps he just wanted to be nice. Not that odd, is it?

Scarlett snorted, skeptically. "Always looking at the bright side, aren't you? Suppose you'll find out in time, but men are only interested in one thing… themselves."

Giselle chose to ignore Scarlett's remarks—always seeing the dark side, she was – and flopped onto the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, she smiled as she recalled the past few nights. Scarlett was probably right; Jack had been interested in his own pleasures, true. But somehow, Giselle felt amply compensated as well.

The gold was a nice bonus.


	8. When My Ship Comes In

Title: When My Ship Comes In  
Rating: M (very suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack, Scarlett  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with them

Summary: To dream the impossible dream? Jack doesn't seem to think so.

**When My Ship Comes In**

--

"What's this?" Jack asked curiously, pulling a small box out from underneath the bed.

Scarlett hurried over and snatched it from his hand. "Nothing." She carried it possessively over to the window where she'd been sitting.

Jack laughed and laid back on the bed, one arm pillowing his head. "Nothing as in _empty_ or as in _not important_?"

Scarlett paused for a moment and stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror propped against the wall. It was an apt description of how she felt at the moment, empty… of no importance. She sighed, set the box at her feet and went back to fixing her hair.

"Nothing, as in _none of your business_, Jack Sparrow." Finished with her task, she stood up and briskly walked to the door. "I have a living t' earn. And, unless you have the coin to stay the night, I suggest you get dressed."

"Scarlett, luv! After this next venture of ours, I'll pay you twice the going rate." Jack gave her his most charming, glittering grin, a hopeful expression on his face. "I rather fancied staying here tonight."

Ever since the incident with that book he had brought from Singapore, he'd somehow manage to connive his way into the room she shared with Giselle, a room normally off limits to men. But Jack was not just any man and that was the problem.

"Do what you will then. I don't have the luxury of lounging the night away." She turned and hurried down the outside stair, into the muddy street below. Hitching up her skirts, she made her way toward the waterfront, where several new ships had made port. With luck, she could make enough that night to meet the week's rent.

The wharf area teemed with activity, as the newly arrived ships unloaded. Along with the whores, vendors hawked their wares, vying for the attention of the sailors, all eager for a share of the coin lining the sailors' pockets. Scarlett wove her way through the crowd, aware that her blazing red hair and matching gown would make her stand out favorably against the dreary drabness of the others. She didn't have to look for long.

"Lookie here boys!" a voice called from behind Scarlett. A group of sailors were making their way up the pier, having just come ashore, judging from their swaying gait. "Ain't she a fair piece." The lead man gave a low whistle and admiring glance her way.

"A right fine doxy she is." His companion agreed.

The third man concurred. "As fine a wench as we'll find in this hellhole."

Scarlett smiled encouragingly. The trio circled around her, whistling their approval and making suggestive remarks. The leader of the group, a sun burnt, fair-haired man wearing the tattered remains of a Navy uniform, took her arm and leered at her. "How much for the three of us?"

Scarlett replied sweetly. "I only take one customer at a time."

"Oh, you do, do you?" the blonde seaman sneered. "Ain't she a right piece, lads? A gimcrack slut like this actin' all hoity-toity, puttin' on airs like she's a duchess or somethin'."

"I don't need the likes of you," Scarlett declared, angrily, pulling her arm away. "Go find yerself another girl."

The man grabbed her once again, with a menacing look. "I don't believe me and the gents here were through with you, just yet."

Scarlett struggled to free her arm, glancing quickly around to get her bearings. To her dismay, she found the men had been quietly herding her toward a seedy alleyway, a deserted, dead end passage. Her alarm growing, she tried to cry out, but the first sailor clapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her down the dark lane.

Instinct taking over, Scarlett kicked outward, a well-placed shoe catching the second man in the groin. He buckled over in pain, but the third assailant soon caught up, seizing her again. It became apparent then, that the men were going to have their way with her, one way or the other. As they pushed her down into the mud, fumbling with their flies, the sound of a sword being unsheathed rang out in the night.

To Scarlett's relief, she heard a familiar voice.

"I have cutlass and pistol at the ready, mates. Unhand the woman, unless you wish one or the other in your gut." Jack's pistol was aimed at one man's heart, a gleam of madness and malice in his eyes.

It only took a moment for her two attackers to make their choice, scampering away in to the darkness. Jack waited until they were well away before he slid his sword back into his baldric, and held out a hand. "Are you hurt?" he asked her, gently.

Scarlett found herself suddenly shaking. "No. No." She clasped her arms around herself to stop the trembling. "Thank you, Jack."

He peered at her in the gloom, his head tilted slightly as if he were going to say something. Instead, he gestured to her muddy gown. "Want me to walk you back to the room?"

Scarlett wiped a stray tear from her eye and squared her shoulders. "No, I'll be fine. I best be getting back to work; I need to pay the rent tomorrow."

Jack fished in his pocket and produced a handful of coins. "No need for that. I'll pay for the night."

Scarlett glanced at the gold and frowned. "You lied! You told me you were skint broke, Jack Sparrow!" She tried to sound angry, but was relieved, nonetheless, to not have to be watching over her shoulder for the remainder of the evening.

Jack chuckled and took her arm. "Not a lie. I am… now."

--

"So what's in the box?" Jack was lying on his side, playing with a lock of her hair, watching her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Scarlett sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. "My past," she said quietly. She could feel the tears threatening again." Why do you care?' she asked, angrily. "Always asking questions."

Jack laid back and stared up at the ceiling, shrugging slightly. "Curiosity, I s'pose." He grinned at her. "Now, don't tell me you haven't been curious at times."

Scarlett frowned at him. "No, Jack. I learned long ago not to ask. Easier that way." She reached down and pulled out the box he had found earlier. "Go ahead and look, if it'll make you happy."

Jack removed the lid and inspected the items inside, a small smile playing at one corner of his mouth. He picked out an old-fashioned cameo broach, and held it up in the candle light. "Your mother's?"

Scarlett nodded, a swell of emotion momentarily choking her. She'd never allowed another soul to see at her small collection of memories, not even Giselle. Somehow, Jack had once again wheedled his way into her confidence.

One by one, he selected and examined several other items – a tarnished ring, a broken comb, some ribbons, faded with age. Without a word, he carefully tucked them back as he had found them, and replaced the lid.

"I don't believe in fairy tales anymore, Jack." Scarlett took the box and returned it to its place. "No more knights in shining armor or happily ever afters…. as much as I want to," she added sadly. "That's why I don't ask questions."

"No damsels in distress, either?" Jack teased gently, leaning back. "Not even after tonight?"

Scarlett shrugged. "Wasn't the first time; won't be the last. Comes with the trade, I suppose."

Jack shook his head in disgust. "Still no call for it."

"No call for a lot of what goes on in this town." Scarlett said resignedly, as she stood and pulled on her faded robe. She went to the table and poured them each a glass of rum. Handing one to Jack, she perched on the side of the bed. "Unlike you, I'm not free to sail away from all this." She paused for a moment, then softly added, "Not like I've got me anywhere else to go."

Jack ran a lazy hand up her arm, wearing a thoughtful expression. "And where would you go, if you were free to go anywhere you wished?"

Scarlett pressed her lips together in grim tightness. "I would go someplace respectable: Boston, perhaps, or Charleston. Open me up a little shop, notions and mending. Perhaps, earn enough for a cottage of my own, with a garden filled with flowers." She allowed for a bit of fanciful dreaming, before bringing herself back to reality. "Won't ever happen, though, will it? No point in dreaming."

"That's where you're wrong, luv. You need to hang onto them dreams of yours. Keep a weather eye on the horizon, that's what I always say," he said cheerfully. "No reason not to believe in 'em. It's been me personal and extensively knowledgeable experience that you never know what life might bring you."

"Just waiting for my ship to come in, is that it?" Scarlett gave a hard laugh and rose, as she moved to the open window, and looked out at the Tortuga night. The street was teeming with drunken sailors and other masculine forms, carousing, fighting… the usual. Her life had become an endless routine of rough hands and nameless faces. She had become accustomed to the stench, but the cheap disregard for life was far more difficult to bear.

Jack rose and came up behind her; wrapping his arms around her. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he gazed at the nightlife below. A cool breeze wafted through the window and he drew closer, naked and needy, running his hands beneath her robe, caressing her breasts.

Scarlett felt him, hard against her back. Sighing she turned. After all, he _had_ paid for the night. One corner of her mouth curled as she led him back to the bed, allowing her gown to drop onto the floor.

At least, she still had her looks.

Jack responded with glee, running his hands along her sides, dark against light, rough against smooth. His mouth exploring, he took charge and gave her a rare treat, allowing Scarlett to feel the pleasures of the flesh.

Afterwards, lying in the crook of his arm, listening as he slept in sonorous satisfaction, she almost wished he hadn't…. hadn't shown her how it might have been, if her life had gone in another direction. It was easier not to feel, neither pain nor pleasure. She wasn't a fool, and expected nothing. Yet, at times like these, she allowed a small part of her to wonder what it would be like to have someone desire only her. She quickly put the thought out of her head.

"When my ship comes in," she thought, bitterly, "it'll be full of men wanting only one thing. Best be getting used to it."


	9. Where You Got The Notion

Title: Where You Got The Notion  
Rating: R (suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack / Giselle / Scarlett / Gibbs  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with them

Summary: Jack goes out on account, then has to account for his actions, which are on account of having gone out on account…

--

**Where You Got The Notion…**

_She was out on adventure. The wind in her hair, her eyes on the horizon, the sea stretching out before her. Above her head the snap of canvas, below her feet the creaking of timbers. Aloft, the lookout cried out…_

"Giselle! Wake up!"

Giselle groaned and turned her back on the interruption. "Don't want to. Go away," she mumbled. _Such a lovely dream, too_.

Her roommate was persistent however, and took her by the shoulder to give her a good shake.

"What'ya want?" Giselle asked, groggily. "Whatever it is, can't be that bloomin' important." She opened one sleepy eye to find Scarlett standing over her, her hands on her hips, looking thoroughly unhappy

"I've just had to tell Mr. Beasley, _again_, that I do not have this week's rent." She glowered at Giselle, tapping her foot in irritation.

"How was I t' know the pickings would be so slim this week?" Giselle grumbled as she sat up and yawned. "Besides, it ain't like he's gonna kick us out."

Scarlett heaved a sigh and flopped down in the chair by the window. "He said he might this time." She stared out the window, her shoulders drooping.

Giselle got up and padded barefoot to her friend, giving her a quick hug about the shoulders. "Come on Letty, we'll make it work. Don't fret none. I'll work twice as hard, promise."

Scarlett gave her a small smile. "It's just that this is the first place I've had to call 'home' since I came to this wretched town." She waved her hand in disgust. "As piss poor as it is, it's better than no place at all."

Giselle smiled. "Things'll be fine. Just you wait and see." She pointed out the window toward the harbor. "See, what'da I say? There must be three new ships in port since last night. Should be able to make enough for the whole month's rent." She hurried into her gown, prattling on as she fixed her hair. "You just worry too much, Letty. Life's too short t' be worryin' none. Gotta keep a weather eye on the horizon."

Scarlett shook her head. "Who told you that? Jack Sparrow?" She sighed again. "Always promising, always dreaming. Bad enough he's that way, without rubbing off on you."

Giselle frowned. "I don't see how that's such a bad thing. Jack's sweet… and fun, not at all like the others."

"Well, no point settin' your hopes on Jack Sparrow," Scarlett reminded her. "Might as well try to catch the wind, or hold onto the sea."

Giselle didn't answer, just finished dressing and fixing her hair. She paused to gaze at her reflection in the mirror. _Yes, but if you happen to be in the right place, at the right time, the wind and the sea will seek you out._

--

"Yo ho, yo ho…a pirate's life for me." Jack Sparrow hummed the little ditty to himself as he stood at the helm of the _Black Pearl_, sensing the wind, instinctively adjusting the ship's course to maintain her speed. "And really bad eggs….drink up me 'earties, yo ho."

He smiled to himself and took a long swallow from the rum bottle in his other hand. He stroked the worn wood of the wheel as a lover would caress his beloved. At that moment in time, all was right in Jack's world. The wind blew back his braided hair, the many trinkets and beads creating their own soft tune in accompaniment to the one he hummed.

The call from above interrupted his thoughts. "Sail ahoy! Three masts."

Pulling out his spyglass, Jack scanned the horizon. "Colors?" he called to his lookout.

There was a momentary pause, then: "French. Looks t' be a merchantman, riding low."

Jack grinned. "Then French it is! Mr. Gibbs! Hoist the colors of those bloody frogs and on her we'll be! Man the windward sheets! We'll be pointing hard!"

He adjusted course, guiding his ship with the gentlest of touches, filling her sails with as much wind as could be had.

In less than four hours, the _Pearl_ caught up with the slower, heavily laden vessel. When they were within hailing distance of the other ship, Jack beckoned Gibbs again. "Let's show 'em our true colors! Alert the larboard gun crews. We'll send a shot across their bow!"

Gibbs scurried away to relay the message to the gun deck below as the _Black Pearl_ bore down on her prey. If the French ship had been uncertain, a loud boom and puff of smoke announced the _Pearl_'s true intent, her French ensign being replaced by a black flag, with grinning skull, raised high.

On the merchant ship, chaos was the order of the day, with men running in panic in every direction, offering no resistance as the _Pearl's_ men swarmed onto their deck. They were easily rounded up and stood in a fearful huddle around the mainmast, guarded by several pirates with pistols and cutlasses at the ready. The remainder of the _Black Pearl's_ crew crowded below, soon returning with their arms full of swag.

Jack boarded and sauntered up to the grizzled French captain. "_Parlez-vous Anglais?_"

The other captain nodded. "You are English pirates? Perhaps we can come to an accord, _oui_?"

Jack curled his lip and raised his cutlass to the older gent's throat. "Already have, mate. What part of "pirate" did you not understand?"

The older man shrugged and held his hand up in supplication. "_Oui_, you have taken a great prize. I only plead for my men to be spared."

Jack gave a short laugh and a devilish grin. "Cooperate fully and no one will be harmed."

Their exchange was interrupted by a shout from below, followed by the appearance of two of Jack's men escorting at gunpoint a middle-aged man and woman.

"Unhand me you murderous rogue!" the portly gentleman sputtered, face red beneath his opulent wig.

_Hmmm…_Jack thought. _A rich merchant from the looks of it_.

The woman, a full-figured, imposing creature dressed in the latest of fashion, turned to her companion. "Be quiet, Albert!" she demanded in exasperation. "You're not helping matters!"

Jack frowned and turned to the captain. "You didn't say anything about passengers."

"You did not ask." The Frenchman cringed at the woman's shrill voice. "I was hoping, perhaps, since you are English, you might wish to say… take a hostage or two?" He motioned Jack closer. "Lord Eldridge is a very important man," he added in a low voice, arching his brow. "I am sure he and Lady Eldridge would bring you a very handsome price."

Jack glanced curiously over to see the nobleman with his arms crossed, glaring at his wife, who had not stopped talking since they had been brought above decks.

"Pirates!" she was exclaiming, rolling her eyes. "As if I haven't had enough to endure, on this godforsaken, leaky scow you booked passage on! No accommodations, to speak of, the food is atrocious, the manners of these French dogs beyond belief. And now this! Everything we have is about to be taken from us, by a bunch of filthy pirates!" She gave him a withering look, filled with disgust. "You couldn't even fight like a man! Cowering behind my skirts like a nursling. I've never been so ashamed in my life! I should have listened to my mother, she always told me you'd amount to no good…"

"Madame! Would you please shut it?!" Jack shouted, interrupting her tirade, taking several strides in her direction, eyes bugging out in annoyance. He glowered at her, causing her to take several steps backwards.

She raised a fluttering hand to her breast. "Oh sir, I am a virtuous woman," she began, gasping in excitement. "I beg of you!"

Jack leered at her, as he ran a finger down her plump throat, and around the ornate necklace of glittering gems that sat heavily on her heaving bosom.

He flashed an equally glittering grin. "Beg _what_ of me?" he asked, leaning closer. He lifted the jewels as if to inspect them, allowing his fingers to trail slightly downward. "Not every day I get me a _virtuous_ woman," he added in a suggestive whisper in her ear.

Lady Eldridge's eyes goggled in shock, as she nearly swooned. Her husband stepped forward. "Keep your filthy hands off my wife, you disgusting, flea-bitten cur!" he demanded in a loud voice.

Jack whirled on him and pulled out his pistol, placing the barrel against the nobleman's temple. "I _do_ _not _have fleas!" he hissed. The man's face blanched white. Jack gave him a moment to reconsider his remark before tucking the gun into his sash and turning back to the woman, whose face had fallen in disappointment.

"Oh please, sir! Do not harm my husband!" She was pleading now, a hand to her brow, as she batted her eyes at Jack. "Take me, if you must. I shall endure."

Jack raised a thoughtful eyebrow. _The woman's obviously thrilled by the prospect. T'would be bloody inhospitable not to give her something to remember me by. That pompous arse of a husband of hers doesn't look as if he knows how to please a woman. Bit of a dandy, he is._

"Now Edith, that won't be necessary," Lord Eldridge protested. "I am sure."

Jack smirked and gave a slight bow. "As lovely a thought that is, I must agree with your husband. We desire only your valuables. You can be assured your virtue will remain intact." Seeing the disappointment on her face he chuckled and added, "Think of the tales you'll be able to tell over tea! How you were almost ravished by Captain Jack Sparrow!"

Lady Eldridge's hand fluttered at her breast. "Oh! Captain Sparrow! I have heard stories about you!"

"You won't get away with this, Sparrow," Lord Eldridge told him. "Those goods are property of the East India Trading Company. They don't take lightly to pirates."

Jack glanced briefly at his wrist, his mouth set in a grim line. "All the more reason to relieve them of said property, aye?"

He strode back to the French captain. "You seem to have forgotten to mention whose cargo it was," he pointed out, belligerently.

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. "I am just a poor man, trying to make a living. They pay in gold, so who am I to argue?" He glanced over at his two English passengers. "Are you sure you do not need a hostage or two?"

The crewmembers of the captured prize watched as the _Pearl's_ men transferred the cargo from one ship to another. Bales of muslin and other cloth, as well as raw silk, made up the largest portion of the goods. Among the other items of value, there were also bags of brown sugar, barrels of rum and casks of wine. The pirates took the majority of livestock as well, carrying chickens, goats and several pigs, squawking and squealing to the _Black Pearl_.

When the transfer of cargo was complete, the men disabled the French ship's guns and cut the lines, rendering her temporarily helpless, but not scuppered. As a final precaution, the rudder was disabled and all the navigational charts and instruments seized. The pirates returned to their ship, leaving the French crew unharmed, but unable to pursue.

"Thank you, Captain, for your generosity!" Jack shouted across the growing span of water between the ships as the _Black Pearl_ cast off, sweeping his hat off with a bow. "My regards to you, milord, milady!" Then he turned to his crew. "Hands aloft! Make ready for full canvas! All hands, scurry!"

Taking the helm, Jack kept an eye on the merchant ship until it was but a speck on the horizon.

_Well, they won't starve; we left them plenty of hardtack and water_.

Chuckling, he turned his eyes to the horizon, humming softly. Consulting the compass, he adjusted course, slightly. He knew exactly where to unload his cargo: Tortuga.

The French ship had been a rich prize, indeed. After negotiations were complete, the cargo provided each man on the _Pearl_ enough gold to keep him in rum and wenches for a month. And, with the East India Company most assuredly on the lookout for them, it seemed prudent for all parties involved to lay low for a spell, at least as long as the gold held out.

And, what better place to lay low than the dissolute pirate haven of Tortuga?

Jack trudged up the hill toward town with his quartermaster at his side. "Ah, there is no better place in all the Caribbean, mate," he declared with zeal as he waved a hand about, "than the lusty shores of Tortuga!"

"Aye," Gibbs agreed with gusto. "Ne'er a town so accommodatin' with the essentials of life, either." He nodded his head toward a cluster of wenches under a sign which incongruously read: "Bride Auction."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Never seen that before. Wonder who's marryin' them?" His brows shot even higher, when he saw a familiar face in the group. Jack told Gibbs he'd meet up with him later, and headed toward the auction, his progress hampered by the unusually large crowd of men gathered around the raised platform.

"Looks more like a hangin' t' me," he muttered, jostling for position as the first wench was led up on the block.

The auctioneer was a greasy-haired git, whose pinched features and long, pointed nose reminded Jack of a weasel… or a rat, as the case may be.

"Now which of ye fine gents wants to bid on this lovely lass?" he shouted to the crowd, sweeping a hand toward a buxom lass, of ample proportions who stood next to him atop a crate. "A hearty wench, t' warm yer bed and cook yer meals."

He waited expectedly, only to have the crowd of men yell, "We want the redhead!"

Shaking his head he again pointed to the wench on the block. "Shift yer cargo, dearie," he whispered to her. "Show 'em yer larboard side." The girl cooperated, swiveling her hips and batting her eyes.

Finally, a stringy-haired gent with no teeth started the bidding. "A tuppence."

The auctioneer fellow shook his head in disgust. "Bidding t' start at a shilling; you know the rules, Roberts."

The crowd grew restless, and started to grumble and stomp their feet. "We want the redhead!" they chanted, their mood growing sourer by the minute.

Jack pushed his way through the rabble to the other side where the women were clustered.

"Pssst! Scarlett!" he hissed, trying not to draw the attention of the angry mob that had begun pelting the auctioneer with rotten bits of food and filth from the street.

Scarlett turned wide-eyed toward Jack, the crowd behind him growing more unruly by the minute.

"_What_ in the name of Morgan and Bartholomew is going on?" he demanded.

She pointed toward the raised platform, now covered in filth and slime, the auctioneer no where to be seen. "Gent promised us twice the going rate."

"Best be getting you out of here before…" he began, hooking an arm through hers, turning to come face to face with the mob of drunken men, their eyes intent on the same wench he now gripped firmly by the arm.

Jack grinned and called out cheerfully. "Sorry, already paid for. Plenty more where she came from!" He reached in his pocket and drew out a handful of coins, which he threw at the crowd. "First one's on the house, gents!" Then, amidst the mad scrambling for the fallen coins, he ducked down and ran, pulling Scarlett in his wake.

They didn't slow down until they were safely inside the room, which Scarlett and Giselle shared. Jack sank down in the chair, pausing a moment to catch his breath.

"Would you care to explain what _that_ was all about?" he asked in an exasperated voice as he fanned himself with his hat.

Scarlett flopped down on the bed, at first too winded to reply. Finally, she sat up.

"_That_ was Tortuga at its finest," she said, irritably. Nothing but drunken men, wantin' one thing, same as you, Jack." She unpinned her hair and shook it out over her shoulders. "Exceptin' _they_ were willin' t' pay," she added, bitterly.

Jack shook his head in amazement. "That's a fine way to thank me for savin' you!" he groused. "Silly me! I thought you needed help and…""

"Did you ever think for one moment, Jack Sparrow that perhaps I didn't _want_ to be saved?" she cut in. She brushed her hair, with long, angry strokes, its coppery sheen cascading down her back. "I was hopin' to make the rent money tonight, not be sittin' here entertaining you."

His temper flared. "Not sure _where_ I got the notion. Clearly not from you." Jack stood up and swept a mocking bow toward the door. "Off you go then! Go on back down there and _entertain_ your adoring crowd, I'm sure you'll have loads of fun. Me? I'll find me another wench that will appreciate me company. Shan't have to go far, I assure you!" He headed towards the door and added over his shoulder," And just so you know, I was planning on paying…. and for more than one night." He jammed his hat on his head and slammed the door behind him. He didn't look back, even when "Jack, wait!" came plaintively from behind the door.

_Blasted wench! The bloody cheek of her to act as if she wanted that crowd of slavering animals to be ravishing her. Serve her bloody right if they did. Last time ol' Jack'll be running to her rescue. Bloody hell! _

TO BE CONTINUED…


	10. Don't Rock The Boat

Title: Don't Rock The Boat  
Rating: M (suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack / Giselle / Scarlett / Gibbs  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with them

Summary: Can Giselle sort out the mess between Jack and Scarlett?

--

**Don't Rock The Boat…**

Jack's disposition did not improve as the evening wore on. After his attempts at chivalry were unceremoniously dismissed, he'd left Scarlett's room in a right foul mood, and headed down the street toward the waterfront taverns. His immediate goal was to find rum, lots of it. And a salty wench… or perhaps three.

_Not like I don't have the coin to toss their way_, he rationalized. _A man needs a bit of variety, no reason to keep returning to the same trough to feed. Lots of lovely wenches in Tortuga that'd be more than willing to bestow their favors on me. After all, who am I? I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, that's who! _

Several hours and bottles of rum later, Jack was still sitting by his onesies at the rear of the _Faithful Bride_. It had seemed every salty wench in Tortuga worth entertaining was off entertaining some other gent. He'd never seen the pickings so slim. Oh, sure, there were a few whores available, but even _he_ had standards.

_Bloody difficult for a man to get his pleasures when his goods are tightening up for the wrong reasons! I suppose it's me own bloody fault, for having such discretionary tastes._ _Never would of imagined it. Hell, the last time we made port, me and the crew couldn't keep up with the demand. Had to weigh anchor earlier than planned, just to give the men a rest. _

Jack took another glum look around the room. A familiar face appeared in the crowd, cradling a bottle of rum in one arm and a buxom wench in the other. Gibbs beamed a smile Jack's way and called out to him from across the room.

"Jack! Didn't expect t' be findin' you here all alone. Thought I saw you leavin' with Scarlett."

Gibbs fumbled a sloppy kiss on the plump cheek of the wench next to him and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and batted her eyes, blowing Gibbs a kiss as he bobbed his way over to where Jack was slouched against the wall.

Jack scowled. From the spring in his step and the sheepish grin on his face, it was obvious that even Mister Gibbs had managed a tumble.

Gibbs flopped down on the bench opposite Jack and poured them each a cup of rum. Taking a big swallow, he exhaled with a sigh.

"Ah, nothing like the sweet delights of Tortuga t' give a rise t' a man's spirits."

Jack continued to scowl. _Bad enough Gibbs had got him a bit of skirt, but did he have to rub it in as well?_ He started to retort then froze, mouth agape at the disconcerting sight before him.

There, coming from behind the curtained alcove that led to the upper rooms was another of his crewmen, the diminutive Marty, accompanied by no other than the long and lithe Giselle. She laughed as she bent down to plant a long, seductive kiss on top of his bald head, and then glanced up. Catching Jack's eye, she smiled and waved as she made her way across the room.

"Jack! There you are! Was wonderin' if you were gonna show up." Giselle cocked her head and gave Jack a puzzled look. "Why are you sitting back here all by yerself? There something the matter?" She looked around the crowded tavern. "Where's Scarlett? She didn't kick you out, did she?"

"There is nothing the matter! Can't a man have a drink alone without the whole bloody world fussin' over him?" Jack grabbed the bottle of rum and took a big swig.

Gibbs raised one bushy eyebrow as Giselle slid onto the bench next to him and patted him on the knee. "How ya been, Uncle Josh?"

Jack choked on his rum and set the bottle back down with a thunk. _Uncle Josh?_ He stared dumbfounded at the two of them for a moment, his eyes darting to Marty, who was now perched on a stool at the bar, at nose height to the bouncing bosoms of the wenches on either side of him, then back to Gibbs, who was whispering in a giggling Giselle's ear, then over towards the door where a full-figured blonde was sitting with Mr. Cotton, twittering and feeding peanuts to his parrot.

Jack staggered to his feet. _It seems that every woman in the town is only interested in the absurd, a category which I most definitely do not place meself in!_

With a sweeping flourish, he placed his hat on his head.

"I'm going to the _Pearl_," he announced in a drunken slur, listing to port." Where I shall be _sleeping_!"

No one paid him any heed as he weaved his way through the crowded tavern, and into the street. Feeling rather neglected, Jack headed for the _Black Pearl_, the one wench in port that still welcomed his company.

--

The next morning dawned bright and balmy, the soft breeze rustled in the palms lining the beach, bringing with it the salty tang of the sea, a much more pleasant odor than the customary stench of Tortuga.

Giselle made her way down the muddy street, being careful not to step on any of the drunken men sprawled along the way. The more sober ones had managed to crawl to a doorway; the rest just lay where they fell. Giselle was not accustomed to being out so early, and therefore, was not prepared for the unpleasantries of the aftermath of a wild Tortugan night. The town reeked of old vomit, piss, and rum, overlaid with the musky scent of unwashed man. A _proliferous bouquet, _she had once heard Jack Sparrow call it.

To find the said pirate captain was what had drawn Giselle out of her bed at this ungodly hour. And, seeing how his last declared destination had been his ship, it seemed the logical place to begin her search. She arrived at the docks, with no idea how she was going to manage to get a message out to the _Black Pearl_, resting at anchor in the bay. To her relief, she saw a familiar soul, curled up asleep on the wharf.

"Mister Gibbs!" Giselle called to the grizzled sailor slumbering in the shade of a stack of barrels.

Gibbs groaned and peered up at her with rheumy eyes and blinked several times as if trying to focus. "Miss Giselle?"

"Where'd ya get that?" She smiled and nudged the item in question with the toe of her shoe.

He snatched the small stuffed bear and made to hide it. "Was just keepin' it safe fer someone," he mumbled.

Giselle laughed. "Secret's safe with me!" She pointed out at the black ship." How'd I get out there? I need to talk t' Jack."

Gibbs stood up and shook his head. "No, no, no. It's fearful bad luck to have a woman on board."

"I don't want to _sail_ on the bloomin' thing!" Giselle put her hands on her hips. "I just need to talk t' Jack about Scarlett."

"What about Scarlett?" Gibbs asked, scratching his head. "She ill or somethin'?"

Giselle shook her head. "She's upset, that's all; sobbed her eyes out all night." She paused for a moment. "Ain't got no one else to ask, not in this town no how. Jack's as close as we get t' havin' a friend."

"I imagine it's not the first time the Cap'n's broke a young lady's heart, but I'm doubting you can do much 'bout it."

"Scarlett ain't cryin' over Jack!" Giselle snorted. "If anything, she's wantin' to smack him one. Like she'll do t' me if she finds out I came here." She pointed at a small boat. "I really need to talk to Jack. Can you take me out there?"

Gibbs gave her a puzzled look. "I'll take you out there, but there ain't no way of knowin' what mood Jack's in."

Giselle smiled. "As long as he's alone, it'll be fine."

--

Jack was alone, which was part of the problem. And the cause of that current problem was competing with another problem, which was becoming the bigger problem.

_Bugger! Bad enough to wake with a cockstand fit to burst, but t' have me head fit to burst as well is bloody unfair! What I bloody need is a wench and a bottle of…_

A thump on the side of the hull interrupted his thoughts. _NOW what?_ he groaned.

"Jack?" A voice called from outside the cabin door.

_I know that voice! Distinctly female persuasion…most definitely. _

"Jack! It's Giselle, I need t' talk t' you."

_A wondrous and most opportune moment indeed. How did that saying go? Ask and thou shall…_

"I need t' talk t' you about Scarlett."

_Not good. The wench has sent out her minion to do the dirty work for her. Well! If she thinks, for one moment, I am going to…_

He started towards the door, but it opened before he could reach it. Giselle stood with her hands on hips. She glanced at his face, a fine brow arching as her eyes moved downward to rest on his obvious predicament.

"It's nice t' see you too, Jack."

He grinned at her and held his arms out. "Giselle!" he purred, in desperate need of attention, having been sorely neglected the night before.

Giselle pushed by him and flopped down in the chair next to the table. She stretched out her legs and sighed, smothering a huge yawn. "Too tired, Jack. Was up all night."

Jack let his arms drop limp to his sides. "Oh" He rummaged around until he found a partial bottle of rum and took a healthy swallow. _Hair of the dog and all that._

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, if I am not to enjoy the pleasure of your company?" Jack raised a brow and took another large swallow of rum, relishing its burn down his throat, the throb in his head beginning to ease. The same, however, could not be said for his other parts.

Giselle tilted her head back and gazed at the black wood of the cabin ceiling. With her head thrown back, all that lovely bare skin was offering a temptation Jack found difficult to resist. His mouth twitched as he envisioned his lips on that smooth white throat, wandering downward across those milky breasts so plump and tantalizing…

"…and so we only have today and tomorrow to…" Giselle paused. "Are you even listening to me?"

Jack shook his head to clear it. "Uh, what? Sorry, love. Was driftin' a bit there. You were sayin'?"

Giselle sighed, and rose. She came over, and reached out a hand and…

Jack ducked instinctively.

"Now, what'da do that for?" Giselle cocked her head and giggled. "Just thought I might lend a hand, seein' how yer sort of standing there at attention, with no one t' salute!"

Jack smirked. _I knew she couldn't resist!_

--

Giselle was not usually the devious type. She prided herself on being open with others and tended to keep an optimistic outlook even in the bleakest of times. But, sometimes circumstances called for a more covert route, in order to accomplish what needed to be done.

This was one of those times.

"Jack?" she paused in her ministrations, which were being quite effective, if the groans emitting from further up were any evidence.

"Mmmmm?" came a muffled response.

Giselle smiled and resumed attending to Jack's persistent problem, but paused just when she felt he was on the edge of release.

"Will you do it?" she asked, this time eliciting more than a groan.

"Bloody hell, woman! Don't stop now!"

Giselle smiled. "First, say you'll do it." She teased him with her tongue and hands, nimble fingers exploring, sensing his resolve crumbing as she did.

"Yes, fine! I'll do it." His words ended on a shuddering moan as she took him the rest of the way.

Giselle smiled as she stood up and straightened out her skirts. Jack opened one eye and glanced up at her, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Where'd you learn that?" he asked, still trying to catch his breath.

"We need to hurry," she said, changing the subject. "If were gonna make it in time."

Jack hitched up on his elbows. "Make it where?"

His innocent expression didn't fool her. "Jack! You promised to help Scarlett and me."

"Bloody wench doesn't want me help," he declared, waving his hand. "Told me so herself. Would be wastin' me time."

Giselle laughed. "Well, of course she'd say that. Girl's as stubborn as you! Never stopped you before though, did it?"

Jack flopped back on the bunk and studied his nails. "Why ask me? Plenty of other blighters on shore that'd be willin' to trade for her favors."

Giselle didn't answer, just gave him a solid kick in the shins.

"Why'd you do that for?" Jack sat up, a peevish look on his face.

"You promised to help!" Giselle wasn't about to let Jack off that easily.

Jack squinted up at her. "And what is it, exactly, I'm suppose t' be doin'?"

Giselle sighed and perched on the edge of the bunk. "It's like I told you. Mr. Beasley, or more like Mrs. Beasley, if you ask me, she's got him t' raise the rent on us. Doubled it! We were havin' trouble before makin' the rent. No way we can afford it now. He says havin' us livin' above the shop is hurtin' his business." She laughed. "More like his wife not likin' him oglin' us like he does. Always wantin' t' touch, he is."

She grasped Jack by the hand. "All we need is someone to talk to him, tell him we ain't causin' no trouble. He won't listen to a woman, but a man…someone well-known, with a reputation like yours…well, he might listen to reason."

He withdrew his hand from her grasp and stroked his beard. "Some one like me, eh?" Jack had a skeptical yet intrigued look on his face.

Encouraged, Giselle pressed on. "I know it's not much of a place, but Scarlett's got her heart set on havin' someplace t' call home. Wants t' hang a bloomin' window box, plant flowers! She needs yer help, Jack. Please?"

"Why should I hasten to her rescue? Tried that, and was told to bugger off." He shrugged and laid back on the bunk, and resumed studying his nails. "Sorry, you'll have t' deal with it yourself. I see no profit in it for me."

Giselle grabbed his hand again. "I know you and Scarlett had a bit of a spat. She was bawling all night over it. But could you please?"

Jack sat up and frowned, pointing a finger at Giselle. "I am not goin' t' help where me help is not wanted. You two wenches are goin' t' have t' sort it out yourselves. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a crew to round up and a ship t' make ready t' sail."

He pushed her aside and strode to the door. "Mr. Gibbs!"

Gibbs poked his head in the door. "Aye, Cap'n?"

Jack jerked a thumb toward Giselle. "See she gets to shore and round up the crew. Been a change of plans. We'll sail on the evening tide."

Gibbs gave them a puzzled look. "Aye, aye, Cap'n." He nodded to Giselle. "Best we do as he says, lass."

"Fine! I was just leavin' anyways." Giselle stormed out of the cabin in a swirl of skirts, furious at Jack for lying, but more at herself for believing him. _Maybe Scarlett was right after all. There was no depending on Jack._

TO BE CONTINUED…


	11. Pearls Before Swine

Title: Pearls Before Swine  
Rating: M (suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack / Giselle / Scarlett / Gibbs  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with them

Summary: Jack puts Tortuga and the two wenches to his rudder without another thought.

--

Pearls Before Swine

Jack Sparrow was not a man to suffer regrets. Oh, sure, he had his moments of pique, as any man ought, when fate intervened, disrupting him from his desired course. But these moments were usually set aside, with the firm belief that there was always another course that could be set, another means to said ends.

Take for example, the current course he was plotting: after leaving the pirate haven of Tortuga, where he had hoped to weather the inevitable storm brewing in the aftermath of his latest raid, Jack had two goals in mind. One was to distance himself, as far as possible, from the vexing presence of two of his favorite wenches, under normal circumstances. And second, to make port at an equally pleasant oasis, where he and his men could get back to squandering their gold on rum, women and dissolute living.

Jack gave orders to set sail for New Providence, a pirate stronghold, where they could lie low until the lack of funds demanded they go out on account, once more. Taking the helm, he kept a resolute eye on the horizon, putting both Tortuga and the two ungrateful wenches to his rudder without another thought.

--

It only took an hour for Scarlett and Giselle to pack up their meager belongings. Scarlett took one last look around the narrow, seedy room that she'd come to call home and squared her shoulders.

"Best not wallow in our grief, that's what my mum always said," she told her roommate, as she picked up the last item to be packed, her small wooden box. She brushed her hand across the worn wood, trying not to dwell on thoughts best laid to rest. Then, with head held high, she marched down the stairs for the last time, determined not to let anyone see how truly devastated she was.

Giselle followed at a slower pace. "Where'll ya go now?" she asked Scarlett, her tone more curious than worried.

Scarlett turned with a sad smile. "Wherever I can earn a bed for the night. Same as you I suppose." She paused, then said with feeling, "You take care of yourself, you hear? Always too trustin', you are. One day you're going t' find that men are what I've been tellin' you all along, interested only in themselves."

She gave Giselle a brief hug then turned and made her way up the muddy street toward the waterfront, blinking back the tears that were forming. The night was looking to be a long one. Best be getting to work.

--

The island of New Providence was a pirate's paradise. Not as fancy as Tortuga, it was a place where a pirate would have no trouble finding plenty of rum and salty wenches upon which to spend his ill-gotten gains. Favorable winds had followed them, and the _Black Pearl_ made port a scant three days after leaving Tortuga. After securing the ship and setting a watch, Jack had given the remainder of the crew liberal shore leave. Not needing to be told twice, the men headed for town, eager to take up where they had left off at their last port of call.

"Fixin' t' join the crew, Cap'n?" Gibbs asked, poking his head into the cabin where Jack was sitting at the large mahogany table, scattered with charts and other items.

Jack shook his head. "I got me log to update and some other such business to tend to. You go on ahead." He waved a dismissive hand at Gibbs and went back to writing in his logbook, stopping occasionally to take a swig from the bottle of rum that held down the corner of a chart.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Gibbs said, and left his captain to his duties.

Truth be told, Jack was having mixed feelings about his abrupt departure from Tortuga. Not that he felt he'd done anything wrong. It was just that he hated the thought of the wenches being pressed into seeking out another man of repute to deal with their landlord. Jack smiled at the thought of Giselle's faith in his ability to remedy the situation, by reputation alone. Jack had worked long and hard at building that reputation. It seemed rather contradictory for him to have sailed without testing it.

_Would have been easy enough, t' talk some reason into the man. And if that failed, a bit of bluster and threat might have been enough. Bloody merchants owe their livelihoods to the plunder we bring into port. Best they not be lookin' the proverbial gift horse in the mouth._

He took another swallow of rum and sat back in his chair. With a sigh, he tossed down his quill and propped his boots up on the corner of the table. A twinge of conscience was beating against his mind like a moth to a flame. It was a soft, incessant fluttering, nothing he couldn't ignore, but annoying, nonetheless.

_Why should I care? They are just a pair of strumpets, whores, doxies. No man's prize. They spread their legs for the lot of 'em. Hell, the blonde wench admitted as much. Had me whole crew, she did. Why should I care? Plenty of other waggle- tails out there to chase._

Jack decided that what he needed was a good night, with a willing wench, to put the other two out of his mind. He donned his hat and coat, and set out in search of the same.

--

Giselle was sitting in the corner of the _Faithful Bride_, her lips moving silently as she counted her meager earnings. She had just enough for either a room for the night, or a meal. Her grumbling belly was beggin' for the latter, and so she decided to take her chances and spend what she had, in the hopes a late customer or two might provide her with a dry place to sleep.

She hadn't seen Scarlett since they'd parted ways earlier that week. There was nothing unusual in that; her former roommate's tastes tended to be more discriminating and she favored the finer establishments further up the road. Giselle felt most at home here, in the _Faithful Bride,_ and was content to ply her trade among the many sailors and privateers that frequented the tavern.

The sound of loud voices, coming in from the street, caused Giselle to look up from her meal, hoping perhaps she might not have to sleep in a doorway after all. By all appearances, a new ship must have made port, the men bringing with them the glow of the sun and the smell of the sea. Several of them sauntered towards her; and she gobbled her last bit of bread, wiping her mouth hastily. Then, smiling her most charming smile, she rose and made her way to their table, surreptitiously tugging on her bodice as she went, to reveal more of her assets.

The leader of the group, a sun-burnt fair fellow in a torn and faded Royal Navy uniform, caught her eye and gestured her nearer. He grinned and pulled her into his lap, his groping hands quickly finding their way beneath her gown.

"My, my, yer a pretty one, ain't she, boys?" He gestured toward his companions, who were nodding in agreement. "Me and the gents, here, are lookin' for a bit of entertainment tonight."

Giselle smiled. "Name yer pleasure. Which one of you wants t' go first?"

The blonde man shook his head and leered as he tightened a hand around her wrist. "Oh, we don't want t' be takin' turns. We want a go at ye all together like. Don't we, lads?"

She started to get up only to be pulled back abruptly. "Now don't tell me yer thinkin' of goin'. The night's just begun." The man suddenly had Giselle around the waist, the point of his knife pressed below her breast. "Wouldn't want t' have to force ye now, like that last one. You just come quiet like and we'll let ye keep that pretty face of yers."

With no other recourse, Giselle offered no resistance as the men hustled her out the back door of the tavern, into the alleyway beyond. She only hoped the brutes would be satisfied with just slaking their lust and not be thirsting for something more.

--

Jack had managed to slake both his thirst and his lust at the first tavern he visited. Now, with his goods no longer aching and a belly full of rum, he was content to sit back and listen to the latest island gossip.

The taverns were a buzz over the daring raid on a French merchantman, carried out by a most unlikely pair of rogues. Jack heard it first hand from Gibbs, who heard it from another, who swore he'd heard it from the source itself.

"A woman, Cap'n!" Gibbs had a strained look on his face. "A woman, and that's not the half of it." He paused and took a big swallow of rum. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve he leaned forward. "She weren't alone, either."

Jack gave his quartermaster an exasperated look and waved his hand. "Of course, she weren't alone! No pirate, woman or otherwise, can take on an entire ship all by their onesies."

Gibbs shook his head. "Not what I meant, Cap'n. 'T'was that molly that runs the dress shop up the street that planned it all. You know the feller, Pierre somethin' or other."

"Doesn't sound like your average pirate raid, I give you that." Jack helped himself to some of Gibbs' rum and signaled the serving wench to bring more. "What's a dress maker doin' taking on a merchant ship?"

"Well, you see Cap'n, it were like this." Gibbs settled down to tell his tale, eyes bright. "This girl, Anne Bonny, she caught wind that this merchant ship, French it were, would be sailing through the channel. Nothing out of the ordinary about that, exceptin' this ship was carrying a special consignment, as it were, a cargo of the finest silks and velvet as well as other riches, destined for the dressmakers up in Charles Town."

Gibbs paused as the serving girl placed two tankards of rum on the table. Taking a long swallow, he resumed his tale.

"Now this lass had been itchin' to go out on account ever since she'd taken up with that Rackham fellow. You know the one, Cap'n. Wears them calico breeches."

Jack nodded and smiled, he was well acquainted with Anne Bonny. _Hadn't realized she'd found her a new lover though. Gent best be watchin' his back, with that hot-headed husband of hers._

Taking another sip, Gibbs continued. "So what she did was get together with this Pierre fellow, and he and some of his friends organized themselves a little 'privateering' raid. They stole one of them abandoned wrecks in the harbor, and covered the sails, deck and themselves with turtle blood. Then, they set one of Pierre's dress-makin' dummies in the bow, dressed it in women's cloths, and splashed the blood all over it, as well. The lass, well, she stood over this nightmare figure with a bloody axe, and they sailed out t' the merchantman. When them Frenchmen caught sight of that boat in the moonlight, they thought the devil himself were after 'em. Fearin' the worse were yet t' come, they turned over their cargo without a fight."

Gibbs sat back with a satisfied smile on his face.

"And?" Jack asked, with an expectant look.

"And what?" Gibbs frowned. "Right smart of 'em if you ask me."

"Codswallop." Jack sat back and waved a dismissive hand. "Imagine ol' Annie remembered me tellin' her about using that same trick that time me and me crew took on the entire Spanish Windward Fleet." He smiled and ran his fingers through his beard. "Girl always did love to hear them tales."

Gibbs raised a bushy eyebrow. "Didn't know you were acquainted with the lass." He ducked his nose back in his tankard. "Heard she's trouble waitin' t' happen."

"Aye. That she is." Jack grinned. _If Gibbs only knew the half of it…_

--

One of the local fishmongers found her early the next morning. At first, he'd thought her dead; not an uncommon end for those poor souls that plied the streets and wharfs of Tortuga with only themselves to sell. Poor wench had been roughed up good, from the looks of it. On closer examination, she still clung to life, her gaunt ribs rising and falling beneath the remnants of her tattered gown. Figuring she'd come from the tavern across the alley, the old man rapped at the rear door, rousing the landlord from his slumbers.

"Confounded man! What in the blazes you want at this ungodly hour?" The red-faced tavern keeper peered bleary-eyed through a crack in the door.

The peddler pointed toward what appeared at that distance to be a pile of rags behind a stack of crates.

"Found me one of your whores, Hawkins. Not a pretty sight, but still breathing."

Hawkins frowned and opened the door further, glancing around before stepping out into the narrow space between two ramshackle buildings, a place where, even at its zenith, the sun's light was barely able to penetrate. Bending down, he caught his breath as he recognized the poor woman.

"You know her?" The fish peddler glanced curiously at the battered body, her blonde hair hiding her bruised and bloodied face.

The tavern keeper knelt down and gently brushed the hair from her face. With another sigh, he nodded. "I know her. Sweet lass, too; never caused a bit of trouble."

"She got a name?" the elderly man asked in a hushed voice.

Hawkins nodded. "Her name is Giselle."

TBC


	12. Close Shave

Title: Close Shave  
Rating: M (sexual situations)  
Characters: Jack, Scarlett, with some special guest appearances  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with them

Summary: Scarlett adjusts to her new employment, while Jack runs into an old friend

Note: A special thank you goes out to compassrose7577, who has graciously allowed me to pilfer her Thomas for my series. Pierre Bouspeut and Anne Bonny are OC's from the realms of history, though I have taken liberties with them.

This episode was inspired by a wonderful piece written by pinksiamese, The Purple Hibiscus. I highly recommend it.

--

Close Shave

Tortuga was quiet that night, the streets devoid of their usual crowds of drunken revelers. The crew of the _Griselle _made their way up from the waterfront, scattering among the various taverns and brothels that lined the muddy streets. Planning on being in port for at least a week, while their ship was refitted and resupplied, their captain had given his men liberal shore leave. Their last run had been profitable, the _Griselle_ having taken several prizes, including a fat merchantman bound for the colonies. The profits from that cache alone would keep each crewmember in rum and wenches for the duration of their time ashore.

His pockets jingling with ample silver and gold, their captain chose to head further inland, following the road as it rose above the squalor of the waterfront. The air was fresher here, the scent of jasmine and gardenia replacing the stench of rotting fish and festering humanity. Slowly, the many brothels and taverns that crowded the narrow streets of lower Tortuga gave way to well spaced and higher quality establishments, intending to please the more discriminating tastes of Tortuga's wealthier patrons.

Captain Thomas was neither wealthy nor discriminating, at least not when it came to satisfying his base needs. Neither was he adverse to drinking his nights away with his crew, dicing and whoring in the taverns along the wharfs. This night however, he was looking for something in particular, and his enquiries at the docks had yielded the information and directions he needed.

He found the building without difficulty, a two-story wooden house with a wide porch and balcony running the width of the front. Flowering vines trailed up the walls, and spilled over the rails, lending fragrance and color to the weathered wood. Set back from the road, he would have walked past, assuming it a private residence, if not for the painted sign over the door.

_The Garden of Eden. _

He turned up the walk and smiled in anticipation of the long awaited pleasures that lay within.

--

The jingle of the bell announced a customer at the door. Scarlett, and the other women that waited in the small anteroom off the main hall, eyed each other with various degrees of distrust and jealousy. After only a short week, Scarlett had already drawn the wrath of several of the more established women, when their usual clients had chosen her instead, no doubt attracted by her distinguishing hair and alabaster skin.

Not wanting to give the Madame any cause to dismiss her, Scarlett bore the brunt of their jealousy in silence. Madame Rose was a stern matron that demanded strict discipline from her girls. In return, the working women were given a place to live, a portion of their earnings, and meals. It was a marked improvement over the uncertain life of a street whore, and one coveted by all.

A young mulatto maid opened the door, and graciously took the man's hat and coat, before leading the new customer into the sitting room. The woman turned in unison, primping and preening, hoping to be the one he selected. Scarlett sat up straighter and smiled, as did the others, trying to catch his eye as he surveyed the group.

He was tall, with high, broad cheekbones, and honey-colored hair that was pulled back in a heavy tail. His dark blue eyes slowly scanned each woman, a smile building as he savored the view. Madame Rose appeared at his elbow and he bent to listen as she spoke in hushed tones. His smile faded as he appeared to be having a contradiction in terms with her about something, but then money changed hands and everyone was smiling once more.

Madame Rose stepped forward and snapped her fingers. "You, with the red hair! You will take care of Captain Thomas tonight. He is a very special client; you will see that he is given everything he desires."

Scarlett rose, ignoring the glares and whispered comments from the other girls. She gave the handsome captain her most charming smile, and led him down the carpeted hallway to a room at the rear of the building. Thomas followed, moving with the easy confidence and grace of a large man.

In the center of the room stood a large metal tub filled with steaming water. Large white gardenia blossoms floated on the surface, their heady fragrance blending with the smell of jasmine that wafted in through the high-set windows that offered both ventilation and privacy. Captain Thomas had asked for the specialty of the house – a hot bath, a close shave and, for a few shillings more, warm lips to suck his cock.

The mulatto entered with an armful of towels and a decanter of wine, moving in whispered silence as she poured the wine and lit the candles scattered around the room before slipping out, closing the door behind her. Scarlett waited until Thomas, standing at ease in the center of the room, nodded his approval at the arrangements.

"Is everything to your satisfaction?" She moved closer to him, handing him a glass of wine.

"Perfect! Red wine to match your hair, white blossoms to match your skin." Thomas took a sip of wine and sighed in contentment. "A man couldn't ask for a more pleasant setting or lovelier wench to pleasure him."

His words made Scarlett smile. Most men did not waste time on pleasantries, wanting only what they paid for. She sensed this one was different. He reminded her somewhat of Jack Sparrow, always one to sweet talk and linger, long after the pleasuring was through. She took his now empty glass and went over to the side table to refill it.

"Would you care to take those off?" she asked over her shoulder, gesturing to the massive baldric he wore, dagger scabbard at the shoulder and two pistols crisscrossed at his waist. "I'm surprised the Madame let you keep them with you. She does not usually allow her clients their weapons. You must be very special, Captain Thomas."

Thomas shook his head and laughed. "No, not special. I have found through the years that, with enough coin, you can sway even the most obstinate of persons." He slipped his baldric off and placed it near the tub on a chair, along with his guns. He took her hand, bending down to kiss it lightly. "What is your name?" he asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Scarlett raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"Like to know who'll be tending my needs, I suppose." He laughed again, a deep, rumbling sound. "You look surprised."

"Most men aren't interested in my name." She shrugged. "Anyways, it's Scarlett."

"Scarlett." He nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Should've guessed. Real...or professional?"

"Don't think it much matters." She frowned. "Why all the questions anyways? You remind me of…" She caught herself and looked away, not wanting to remember.

"Remind you of whom?"

She shook her head. "No one." Scarlett brushed her fingers across his chest, playing with the heavy mat of golden curls spilling out from his open shirt, and ran another practiced hand downward, giving a private nod of approval. Not bad!

She tilted her head towards the tub. "Now, no more questions. What say we take care of those needs of yours before the water gets cold."

--

Jack Sparrow poked a cautious head around the corner of the building, his chest heaving from his recent diversionary exertions. He scanned the dark shadows, punctuated by pools of light spilling from the many taverns lining the streets of Nassau town. No one. Heart thudding, he peered about once more before sliding out into the street, assuming – with some effort-- a casual gait toward the waterfront.

"There 'e is!" The shouts came from behind and to his left.

Jack veered a right angle to the street and dove into the nearest doorway. His back pressed against the door, he reached behind and tried the handle. Unlocked! He slipped inside the darkened shop, careful not to make a sound as he crouched down in the shadows and peeked through the multi-paned window. A pair of burly men hurried past, their weapons drawn as they methodically checked both sides of the street. Jack waited a few minutes longer to make sure they did not double back, wearing a smug grin as he straightened and turned to go.

Two menacing figures suddenly loomed out of the shadows, hovering over him in the gloom. Jack drew his cutlass on reflex, brandishing it at the closest one as he backed away for position, only to be brought up short by a third one, pressing something sharp against his back. Determined not to be taken without a fight, he gave a wicked slash at the two in front of him, while elbowing and kicking the one behind. A scuffle ensued as they became entangled, and then crashed to the floor, with Jack pinned beneath the lot of them.

"Mon Dieu!" The exclamation came from the shadowed rear of the shop, as a tall fellow in a frilly lace-trimmed shirt and velvet breeches scurried closer, holding a lantern aloft. Directly behind him came a young woman, the pistol in her hand pointed at Jack's head.

"Don't move or I'll shoot," she said in a rough voice.

Her companion held up the light and glanced around the room, a dismayed look on his face.

"Mon Dieu," he repeated. "Ruined! My latest creation! This horrible brute has slashed it to pieces!" The man, ignoring whatever threat Jack might pose, rushed over to the fallen figure, lifting it lovingly in his arms.

Jack, wide-eyed in disbelief, realized that he'd just been attacked by a trio of dressmaking manikins, and apparently had inflicted grievous injury to the one now cradled in the other man's arms.

"Two weeks," he was lamented over the stiff form "Two weeks I have slaved, every waking moment to create this masterpiece, only to have it ruined! Ruined by this filthy beast!"

Ignoring the acid glare the man shot at him, Jack struggled out from under the other human forms and stood up, grinning.

"Anne Bonny! Now, don't tell me you're not happy to see me!"

The girl squinted in the gloom and said in an incredulous voice, "Jack? Jack Sparrow?"

Jack held his arms wide. "That's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, luv."

Annie lowered her pistol, took two steps towards Jack, and slapped him hard across the face.

"Not sure I deserved that!" Jack said with a pout, rubbing his jaw.

"Oh yes you do, Jack Sparrow!" She balled her fists and advanced until she was nose to nose with him. "After what you did the _last_ time you were here?! I ought to just shoot you and be done with ya!"

"Now that weren't me fault at all!" Jack protested.

Anne waved her hand at the shambles of the dress shop. "And I supposed this ain't your fault either?"

Jack shrugged. "I was attacked. Man has t' defend himself." He glanced at the tattered remains of the dummies. "Was three against one! Bloody unfair odds, if you ask me."

Anne gave him a dumbfounded look then laughed. "You haven't changed a bit, Jack Sparrow. Always spinning them tales." She turned to her companion. "Oh stop sniveling, Pierre. Damn thing was uglier than a witch's wart anyways. Jack here did ya a favor, if you ask me."

"Pah!" Pierre pouted, still clutching the ruination. "A woman who dresses like you, what do you know about fashion, eh? This was a masterpiece; it would have made my name famous all across the island."

"The only thing you'd be famous for is making a fool of yerself, Pierre! Who on this godforsaken spit of land is going to wear a gown like that? You landed on the wrong island when you came to New Providence."

"Is it my fault that the island is populated by peasants?" Pierre righted the dummy and glanced sadly at the shredded gown. "At least I have that new shipment of cloth. I shall just have to recreate!" he declared in a moment of inspiration.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "I heard tell of that. Quite a clever trick. Your idea, Annie?"

She laughed and hooked her arm in his. "Learned it from an expert!" She tossed her head towards Pierre. "I think you owe Pierre a drink."

--

Thomas lay back in the warm water and allowed his senses to be enveloped in the moment. It was a small luxury, and well worth the price. The wench was an exceptional bonus, comely and quiet, a rare combination. He closed his eyes in contentment as she ran a large sponge across his shoulders and chest, washing away all the salt and grime of the weeks at sea. It had been too long since he had had the pleasure of a woman's touch. Her delicate hands belayed their strength, as she massaged his scalp, running her fingers through his hair, as he surrendered to her. After a thorough rinse she moved on to his face, lathering his cheeks and chin before deftly shaving him, leaving his skin smooth.

She remained clothed for the entire process, her gown bunched under her as she knelt beside the tub, her sleeves pushed up to keep them dry. Half asleep, Thomas watched her with languid eyes as she leaned closer, her hand seeking beneath the water, his cock rising to meet it. Ah, yes! A woman's touch! She ran her hand down its length, bringing a groan from deep within him. Without a word she stood and held out her hand to help him out of the tub, wrapping a soft towel around his hips.

As Scarlett dried him, Thomas watched her impassive face, unable to read her thoughts or emotions. A small smile grew on his face as she ran the towel down each of his legs, the sensation bringing his already hard cock to attention. Without a word or change of expression, she knelt before him, and took him, her practiced tongue bringing him to the edge until, with a shattering moan he released his seed, her warm mouth taking it all, riding his crest to completion.

He stood there, gasping in the waning moments of pleasure. Scarlett rose to go and he stopped her, his hand gentle on her arm. "Don't go yet."

"I must." Her eyes sparked with something he hadn't seen, before the shutters fell once more. "Madame Rose is quite strict about us tarrying."

"Just for a little while, then. Been a long time since I've had the pleasure of a woman's company." He was not sure why he'd asked her to stay, it wasn't his usual way with the whores. There was something about this one though, the way she held herself or the hint of sorrow in her eyes, something made him want to find out more about her.

Scarlett hesitated, uncertainty on her face. "She will expect extra payment."

Thomas pulled her close, his hands skimming the soft curves of her body. "I'll handle the Madame."

She felt good under his hands, a hint of lavender in her hair. He tilted her face up and kissed her lips, tasting his own spiciness there. He could feel his body responding, wanting more.

A tap on the door signaled the return of the maid. Glancing at the door, Scarlett paused, then squared her shoulders and went to open it.

Thomas heard hurried whispering, then Scarlett gasp. She turned with eyes wide and a stricken look on her face.

"Is something wrong?"

"It's Giselle! She's been attacked!" Her voice was choked with alarm. "I must go to her!"

Thomas hastily dressed, kicking into his boots and restoring his weapons, and was halfway out the door before she recovered.

Scarlet hurried after him and caught him by the sleeve as he reached the front door. "Why are you rushing off, do you know her?" she rasped, panic tightening her throat.

Thomas shook his head. "My ship's the _Griselle_. Perhaps you heard wrong. Either way I have to go find out."

Scarlett grabbed his arm and said with determination, "I'm going with you. I need to know as well."


	13. A Port in a Storm

Title: A Port in a Storm  
Rating: M (overall series)  
Characters: Jack, Scarlett, Giselle… with some special guest appearances  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with them

Summary: While Scarlett and Thomas hasten to Giselle's rescue, Jack Sparrow finds that three's most definitely a crowd in Nassau town.

Note: A special thank you goes out to compassrose7577, who has graciously allowed me to pilfer her Thomas for my series. Pierre Bouspeut, Anne Bonny and Calico Jack Rackham are OC's from the realms of history, though I have taken some liberties with them.

--

**A Port in a Storm**

Scarlett hurried after the tall captain, half running to keep up with his long strides. Her heart beating wildly, she could only imagine the horror she would find. No stranger to violence, Scarlett had seen first hand the damage that could be inflicted upon one of her kind. Giselle was always so trusting, a perfect target for the depraved who wanted a cheap thrill at the expense of another. Life was cheap in Tortuga…and sometimes too, too short.

The night was typical of most, with drunken revelers thronging the streets, the air filled with shouts and the sound of random gunfire. As they made their way through the crowds, Thomas took her by the elbow, keeping her close while his other hand rested on his pistol. His destination was the waterfront; he had expressed worry about his ship, the _Griselle_. The message that had been delivered had been garbled, in broken English. Perhaps she _had_ heard wrong, and it wasn't her friend who'd been attacked. Scarlett could only hope.

Reaching the docks, Thomas scanned the harbor, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that his ship was unharmed, anchored serenely in the deeper water of the bay. He turned to Scarlett, with concern in his eyes.

"Where would your friend be? Did they say?"

Scarlett bit her lip in dismay, trying not to cry as she shook her head. "No, just that she'd been attacked. I don't even know if she's alive." Her voice cracked and she ducked her head, unshed tears burning her eyes.

Thomas took her arm with a gentle touch, tucking it beneath his. "Well, we'll just have to start searching 'til we find her."

"You would do that?" Scarlett looked up in surprise. "You don't even know her."

His face somber he said with conviction, "If she is a friend of yours, it's the least I can do." He smiled then, his blue eyes kind.

Scarlett took his hand. "Thank you. I will find a way to repay you."

"I may take you up on that offer," he chuckled. "Like I said before, it's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of a woman's company. Where should we look first?" he added, in a more serious voice.

Scarlett squared her shoulders, a sense of relief flooding her. "The _Faithful Bride_, she always liked it there."

--

Nassau was much like Tortuga: full of pirates looking to spend their swag on drinking and wenching. The _Strutting Cock_ was crowded that night, but Jack Sparrow and his companions managed to find a table in a secluded back corner, the three of them squeezing onto the only available bench. Jack wasn't averse to being pressed tight against Anne Bonny, although he would have preferred a few less layers of clothes. Pierre Bouspeut, on the other hand, was making it quite clear he did not mind being pressed up against Jack, undoubtedly with the same sentiments.

Jack draped an arm around Anne's shoulders and signaled to the serving girl for some rum. Anne ran a hand along Jack's thigh, causing him to squirm uncomfortably in his seat, his breeches becoming much tighter than would be normal. It wasn't something that would normally make him uncomfortable, except there was another hand tracking the same course along his other thigh.

_It's a bloody conspiracy, no doubt. Been wanting me a threesome, but something more in the way of me being the only gent. Not quite according to plan._

Not quite indeed. Jack slid his free hand under the table and slapped Pierre's roaming hand. All he got in return for his efforts was a pout and a squeeze.

"Oi! Watch it there!" Jack sidled closer to Anne, who was now openly kissing his neck and moving downward. He made his own forays south, finding some tantalizing hills and valleys in his explorations. Not to be outdone, Pierre managed to find a few of his own, causing Jack to pause, eyebrows raised in warning. It was becoming quite difficult to know whose hands were where.

_Like being attacked by a bloody kraken._

Too busy with their own lusty pursuits, no one in the tavern paid the trio any heed.

The arrival of the rum provided a welcomed diversion. Wriggling out of their grasps, Jack threw back a long swallow.

"Is that Rackham I see there, coming in the door?" he declared in bright relief.

Anne sat up with a start and peered through the miasma of the room. "Where? I don't see him. Did he see us?" She scooted over a discrete distance, hastily buttoning her shirt.

"Deux chiens et un os rarement d'accord," Pierre pouted.

"Come again?" Jack furrowed his brow in concentration. "Two dogs, one bone, eh?"

"She wants you both, but her new Jack, he is not so willing to share, oui?"

It was indeed Rackham; anyone could recognize him anywhere, with those calico breeches.

"You make those for him?" Jack inquired of Pierre.

Pierre crossed his arms and sat up affronted. "Those monstrosities? I would rather die than be forced to make such a hideous garment. The man has no sense of taste, whatsoever!"

"Pierre!" It was Anne's turn to pout.

"Present company excluded, I am sure." Jack Sparrow added, always helpful.

Jack Rackham caught sight of them and strolled over, one hand resting on the butt of his gun. "Hello, Anne. Wondered where you'd gone off to."

The man had the look of a jealous lover about him, not a good sign. Jack Sparrow had already avoided one fight that night, if the bout with the dummies was to be discounted. Not eager to engage in another, especially with a hothead like Rackham, Jack decided it was time to employ diversionary tactics.

"Your Annie was kind enough to accompany meself and Pierre here, for a celebratory drink, in honor of Pierre's new commission." Jack flashed a gold-edged grin meant to charm at Rackham.

"Is that so?" Rackham slid onto the bench, forcing the already too cozy threesome to squeeze even closer. Wrapping his arm around Anne's shoulders Rackham gave her a possessive kiss and a quick fondle, before taking a swig of rum. "And what sort of commission are you celebrating? Not like that last one I hope."

Wearing a puzzled look, Anne started to say something, but Jack Sparrow kicked her under the table arching his eyebrows, and she remained silent.

"Why I have hired Pierre to create me several of his famous masterpieces for a brace of lovely lasses I keep back in Tortuga," Sparrow announced casually. "Been promising them new frocks for months."

"Toujours ravi d'être de service!" Pierre beamed. Encouraged, he ran his hand along Jack's thigh once more.

Deciding the evening was not going according to plan, and seeing no way to salvage a tumble with Annie out of it, Sparrow made to leave. Well, he tried to rise. The close proximity of the others made the maneuver nigh impossible. Sighing, he sank back down onto the bench and slapped Pierre's roving hand away again.

"Don't believe we've been properly introduced," Rackham said, still suspicious.

"This is Jack Sparrow," Annie said, waving a hand in his direction.

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow."

"Really." Rackham eyed Jack, who was surreptitiously trying to extract his thigh out of Pierre's grasp. "Known her long, have ye?"

Jack gave his most innocent look and shook his head. "Made her acquaintance just this day. Went to see Pierre here, happened she were in the shop at the time."

Rackham relaxed at that, and ordered another round of drinks.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief and took a long swallow of rum. _Annie always seemed to pick the hot heads._

"So, how'd you two meet?" Jack inquired, diligently attempting to maintain his casual air.

"Me, I saw her here at the tavern one night," Rackham replied, smiling at Anne. "Was love at first sight. There she was, standing on top of one of the tables, a pistol in one hand, waving a cutlass around in the other, daring anyone to defy her." He shook his head. "Knew at that moment I had t' have her. Ain't that right, Anne?"

"Would have won too, if you hadn't interrupted," Anne grinned.

Jack Sparrow rubbed his chin. _Have no doubts about that!_

"Decided t' court her in the same manner I did when attacking a prize," Rackham continued. "With no time wasted, straight up alongside, every gun brought to play, and the prize boarded."

Jack, who had boarded said prize numerous times in the past, smiled to himself, thinking that perhaps Rackham would be wise to keep an eye out for that jealous husband of hers. Glancing around the room, he spotted Gibbs pressed up against the bar, chatting to one of those full-figured wenches he was so partial to. Jack decided it was time to go.

"As much as I've been enjoying the pleasure of your company, I need to speak to my quartermaster over there. Now if you'll excuse me…"

Jack squeezed by Pierre, who managed a fortuitous squeeze of his own before Jack was able to escape.

"What about my commission?" Pierre asked.

"Offer still stands," Jack declared, donning his hat. "I would like two gowns, one gold, one scarlet." He sketched a female form in the air with his hands. "About this size. Will pick them up next time I'm in port." He threw a handful of gold on the table, and turned to leave, pausing to give Anne and her new beau a slight bow. "A pleasure to meet you both," he said, with a wink to Anne on the side.

Gibbs looked up in surprise as Jack grabbed him by the elbow and steered him towards the door.

"Cap'n?"

"Round up the crew," Jack murmured, suddenly serious. "We weigh anchor on the next tide."

"Where to now?" Gibbs gave Jack a perplexed look.

Jack glanced once more time at Anne and her new paramour, the pouty Pierre at their side. Complications as they were, best for all to be putting this town to his rudder…. and soon.

He flashed a quick grin at Gibbs. "Tortuga."

--

They found Giselle in a back storeroom of the _Faithful Bride_, lying on a pile of burlap sacks. In the feeble candle light she was barely recognizable, her face swollen and bruised.

With a small cry, Scarlett fell on her knees next to her friend and took her hand. "Giselle?" she whispered, tears now flowing freely. "Giselle, it's Letty. Can you hear me?"

A small moan came through cracked lips, as Giselle turned her head in a fitful gesture. Both eyes were swollen shut, but a slight squeeze of her fingers acknowledged she recognized Scarlett's presence.

"I'm here now; you'll be all right, I promise." Scarlett brushed the tears from her face, her heart breaking. "I should never have left you alone. I was afraid something like this would happen."

Thomas squatted down next to Scarlett and took a closer look at Giselle. Scurrying sounds behinds the barrels and crates told of rats, Scarlett shuddering in response.

"You need to get her someplace decent," Thomas said glancing around the room.

"I _have_ no place else to take her!" Scarlett pleaded in dismay. "We had a room once, but our landlord evicted us. And now, rushing off as I did, I probably have lost my position at the _Garden_ as well."

Thomas gave Giselle another thoughtful look then snapped his fingers with a decision. "We'll take her to the _Griselle_. We'll be in port for at least a week; that will give you time to make some arrangements." He put up finger up to Scarlett's lips and hushed her sputtering protest. "None of that. The poor girl needs help. It's the least I can do."

"I'll settle things with the landlord," he said, rising and heading for the door. "I'm sure he'll be expecting compensation for his help in the matter. Stay here with her."

Scarlett didn't have to be told twice. She sat in the candle light, holding Giselle's hand and said a prayer of thanks to a God she wasn't sure she even believed in anymore.


	14. Three Against One

**Three Against One**

--

The landlord of the _Faithful Bride_ told Thomas what details he could about the sordid deed.

"One of the local fishmongers found 'er out back, beat up something awful. Thought she were dead at first." Hawkins took a long swallow of ale, wiping the froth from his mouth with his sleeve. "Woke me 'fore the sun were up, told me he'd found one of my whores."

Thomas nodded and signaled to the serving girl for another round of drinks. Seated with the portly tavern keeper in an alcove off the main room, it was a space where more intimate or clandestine matters could be pursued. Once Thomas had made it clear he would compensate the tradesman for his troubles, there had been no problems with gleaning the details of the previous evening.

"She – 'er name's Giselle, were here later than usual," Hawkins continued his tale, fortified by another pint of ale. "I was over there, just cleaning up when they came in."

"Did you get a good look at them?" Thomas took a sip of his own drink. "See how many of them there were?"

Hawkins nodded. "Oh, I saw 'em good enough. There were three of 'em, strangers to these parts, or at least the _Bride_. Blond feller appeared t' be the leader of the bunch, ex-Navy from the looks of it." He leaned forward and said in a low voice, "Could tell they were up t' no good the minute I laid eyes on 'em. Shifty bastards, didn't order nothin', just lookin' for a wench to bugger, I take it."

Thomas kept an impassive face but his gut clenched. He knew the type: predators, land sharks looking for easy prey. The worse sort, preying on the weak, wenches, beggars, and the elderly. Their sport was torment and torture, their reward the fear and pain they spread. The dregs of society, masquerading as ordinary citizens.

"Would you recognize them again?" Thomas asked, maintaining a calm voice.

Hawkins gave Thomas a suspicious look. "Mebbe. Why?"

Thomas reached in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, placing several on the table. "Perhaps I just don't fancy seeing the wenches roughed up like that." He pushed two of the coins toward the landlord.

The other man's face lit up and he licked his lips.

Thomas slid forward three more coins. "And perhaps, I might just happen to want to return them the favor they so generous bestowed on the poor lass back there."

Hawkins took the coins, with a conspirical wink. "I'm imaginin' you'll be wantin' t' know the minute they set foot in here again."

"Exactly." Thomas nodded and rose to go. "My ship's the _Griselle_. You'll find me there."

"Pleasure to be of help." Hawkins rose as well and wiped his hand on his apron before extending it to Thomas. "Giselle's a good egg, ne'er caused a lick of trouble. Certainly didn't deserve what she got."

--

Scarlett sat on the dank floor next to Giselle, keeping watch over her friend while Captain Thomas had gone to speak to the landlord. Giselle had drifted off again, a blessing, considering the condition she was in. From Scarlett's hurried examination, it appeared nothing was broken, nor had she been cut, praise be. But Giselle's thin frame was battered, her gown ripped to pieces, and she'd been sorely abused.

Scarlett bit her lip and fought back the tears that welled behind her eyes. Giselle was the closest thing she had to family, an unlikely friendship that had blossomed into so much more. Scarlett hadn't fully realized the depth of their connection, until the news came that Giselle had been attacked. Now, sitting here in the gloom, she wished she could take back some of the harsh things she'd said in the past, had shown more patience with her, and been more attentive. The girl was so naïve in many ways, and way too trusting.

She looked up as the door opened and the tall captain rejoined her. Scarlett had no idea why this stranger was being so kind. She wondered what might be his motives; she had lost faith in random kindness a long time ago.

"How is she?" Thomas asked, quietly.

Scarlett looked up at him and whispered back. "She's asleep."

"We best let her rest for a little while longer before moving her, then." He ran a weary hand through his hair.

Scarlett stood and stretched her stiff limbs. "Did you find out anything?"

"As I suspected," he began, his demeanor hardening. "Three of them, cruising the taverns for an easy target." His tone was bitter. "Bit of a sport with them, I imagine."

Scarlett shuddered and rubbed her arms to ward off a sudden chill. "Giselle would never have seen it coming. Always so trusting, she'd have thought they were just out for fun." Her voice caught and she turned away, tears welling up once more.

Thomas came over and put a hand on her shoulder. "It won't happen again if I catch the bastards." He spoke with firm confidence. "The landlord got a good look at them. He thinks their leader might have been in the Navy at some point, possibly a deserter."

Scarlett gasped. "Light-haired?"

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "Yeeesss." His blue eyes were fixed on hers, suspicious. "You know these chaps?"

She shook her head. "'No. But they might be the same ones that approached me, a few weeks ago. Would have done the same to me if it weren't for Jack showing up," she added in a frightened whisper,

"Jack?" Thomas asked, his eyes twinkling with recognition. "That wouldn't happen to be Jack Sparrow you're speaking of, would it?"

Scarlett gave him a surprised look. "Yes, how did you know?"

Thomas laughed, a deep rumbling sound of mirth. "I've known Jack Sparrow more years than I can count. Saving damsels in distress is a specialty of his. Going to be his downfall some day, if he ain't careful," he added, still chuckling.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Scarlett smiled finally. "You remind me of him, in many ways."

Thomas shook his head, his eyes still smiling. "Daft like Jack, eh?" He glanced over at Giselle, who stirred and moaned in her sleep. "We best be getting your friend off that damp floor."

He squatted down and scooped Giselle up in his arms, her thin frame barely a strain to his muscular arms. Signaling to Scarlett, they left by way of the back door and headed down the street toward the waterfront.

"After we get her settled on the _Griselle,_ I'll send one of my men to fetch the doctor. Happen to know of one in town?"

Scarlett nodded. "Dr. Mulhoney; catch him sober and he's the best doctor on the island."

"He'll have to do," Thomas said with a grim set to his mouth. "We'll sober him up, if we have to."

--

Jack Sparrow found himself wishing he _hadn't_ sobered up. Or, perhaps it was all just a bad dream. Opening his eyes he found, none other than that hand-roving dressmaker, Pierre Bouspeut, staring at him with a simpering smile. And worse, the blighter was in his bunk on the _Pearl,_ which was most definitely under sail, as attested by the rocking movement beneath him.

"Ah, you awaken, how fortuitous!" Pierre declared with eager enthusiasm. "I was beginning to think the blow to the head, it might have been, how do you say…? _Fatale_." Pierre batted his eyes and smiled.

Jack groaned as he tried to sit up, only to realize that he was not wearing a stitch of clothing under the thin blanket. _Bugger!_

Pierre seemed to find all quite amusing. "The great Captain Jack Sparrow, _oui_? You live up to your reputation! _Magnifiquement_."

It was Jack's turn to blink.

_What the bloody hell happened? Last thing I'm remembering is leaving the tavern with Gibbs, heading back to the Pearl. How the bloody hell did HE end up here as well?_

Jack closed his eyes and groaned louder. _And what the bloody hell did I do?_

"Bugger!"

"_Exactement_!"

_Not good!_

Jack looked around for his clothes, spying them neatly folded upon a chair, his effects – baldric, hat, coat-- hanging on another. Grabbing the blanket around his hips, Jack stood up, swaying as the room spun. Sitting down abruptly, he put his head in his hands and moaned.

"You were quite fierce last night, even more so when the third man joined in," Pierre said, beaming with unabashed admiration. "You were so strong, so spirited!"

Jack cringed. _Three? No wonder I feel like I've been trampled._

"They were determined to have their way with you," Pierre went on, relishing the tale. "I could not stop them. There were too many and their swords, they were so…_ énorme_. Like bulls, they were."

The throbbing in Jack's head grew worse as Pierre continued to relate the events.

"I was wringing my hands, not knowing what to do. They were so rough, taking turns, I could not watch." Pierre put a hand to his forehead, paling. "I felt so violated."

Jack's head snapped up. "YOU felt violated?" he snarled, "How the bloody, buggering hell did you think I felt?" His temper was flaring, and a steady throb behind one eye was making it twitch.

"You do not have to shout. I am not deaf." Pierre tossed his head and huffed, "If it were not for me, you would still be lying there in that filthy alley. They might have killed you!"

"Save me the trouble of doin' the same to you," Jack glared.

A knock on the door interrupted them. Pierre walked over and leaned his ear against the wood. "_Qui êtes-vous_?"

"I'm the Captain here!" Jack roared, immediately regretting it as his head pounded even harder.

"Ah, it is the good gentleman, Gibbous," Pierre smiled. "_Il est un très bon ami, oui?_"

Jack looked up with bleary eyes at his quartermaster. Gibbs hesitated at the door, shifting his gaze from Jack to Pierre and back. It was the last straw.

"Mister Gibbs! I am certain you have an explanation for all this?!" Rising, Jack gestured at the cabin with one hand, and Pierre with the other, the forgotten blanket dropping to the floor. He paused to look down at himself, quite naked.

Gibbs opened his mouth as if to say something, but then shut it. "Thought it best if we weighed anchor, without delay, 'fore them brutes returned," he mumbled, averting his eyes.

"And what _brutes_ might they happen to be?" Jack raised an eyebrow, snatching the blanket back about his waist.

"Don't know 'em personal like, but there were three of 'em, Cap'n. Same ones lookin' for you earlier, most likely." Gibbs gave Pierre a rather sheepish look. "Managed t' get you out of there 'fore they did too much damage, thanks t' Pierre here."

"As it were, you suffered only a little," Pierre said, in a tone that suggested he might have preferred that Jack had suffered more.

"How fortuitous," Jack muttered. Looking around for the rum, he spied a half bottle on a side table.

_Ah ha!_ _Hair of the dog_.

The blanket securely in place, Jack sauntered across the cabin, and grabbed the bottle. Swinging around, he waved the bottle in his hand.

"Has Pierre come to join the crew?" He bared his teeth in a gleaming, yet menacing grin. "I suggest, Mister Gibbs, that you find some task he might be suitable at, perhaps, the bilge pump?"

Gibbs looked down at his feet. "Well, not exactly, Cap'n." He glanced up and quickly ducked his head once more. "You see, 'fore them blaggards found you, they'd threatened t' do the same to Pierre here. And, seein' how he helped save you from them, and you being passed out and such, and unable t' make the decision… well, I told Pierre we'd give him passage t' Tortuga."

"I will pay my way!" Pierre interjected, before Jack could open his mouth to protest. "I will make you the finest gowns in all Tortuga, to impress your young ladies."

Jack sank back down on the bunk and shook his head. Perhaps it all _was_ a bad dream.

--

"I've done all I can for her," Dr. Mulhoney said, washing his hands in the basin in the corner. "Her injuries are not life-threatening; nothing's broken, though she'll need some time to heal." He nodded towards Giselle's still form as he began to pack up his bag. "I've given her a draught to help her sleep. It's the best thing for her, at this time." The doctor ran a weary hand through his grizzled hair. "I've seen worse. She is one of the more fortunate; at least they didn't use a knife."

Thomas shook his head in disgust. "What gives any man the right to treat a woman that way?" He glanced over at the bunk where the young woman lay. Scarlett's shoulders sagged as she kept a vigil at her friend's side. "How long are we talking?" he asked, quieter. "A few days? Or weeks?"

"I can not say for sure," Mulhoney replied in the same low voice. "She is young, and in fair health." He paused and gestured with his head towards the pair. "At least she has one person to take care of her."

"No," Thomas corrected. "She has two."


	15. Cabin Fever

Title: Cabin Fever  
Rating: R (suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack,Giselle, Scarlett and their guests  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with him

Summary: Jack finds his new cabin boy to be a handful; Scarlett and Giselle find temporary refuge on the _Griselle_.

**Cabin Fever**

The passage from New Providence to Tortuga took a torturous nine days, with prevailing winds and currents working against them, it was slow going, even for the fastest ship in the Caribbean. The _Black Pearl_'s crew managed to stay busy, doing whatever they could to stay out of eyesight and earshot of their injured and irate captain.

After finding Jack badly beaten and unconscious down a back alley on the seedier side of Nassau Town, Gibbs had hauled Jack back to the _Pearl _and weighed anchor without delay.

The entire incident would not have happened, but for their chance meeting of two former crewmembers of Jack's, a couple of unsavory gents, strangers to Gibbs. Against his better judgment, he had agreed to return to the ship alone, while Jack accompanied the others for a "friendly drink and a not so friendly chat."

Still, there had been something suspicious about the manner of the two men. Instead of following his captain's orders, Gibbs waited in the shadows, and then tailed the trio as they made their way through the waterfront's crooked streets. Unfamiliar with the area, Gibbs had soon lost track of them, and turned resignedly toward the docks, hoping his concerns were unfounded. He'd almost reached the wharf, when a flustered Pierre had appeared, wringing his hands and deploring what he had just witnessed.

"_Monsieur_ Gibbous! You must come quickly!" Pierre had tugged on his arm, his face twisted with emotion. "Your_ capitaine_! They are killing him!"

The last words were delivered in a high-pitched squeak, sounding more like "keeling" than "killing" to Gibbs, but he caught the gist. Either way, keeling or killing, it didn't bode well for Jack.

He had followed the frantic Frenchman through the tangle of streets and lanes, until they arrived at a dank alleyway between two precariously tilted buildings. Gibbs carried his pistol in one hand, and cutlass in the other, as he crept along the narrow passage. Finally, they found Jack where his foes had left him, in a crumpled heap behind a pile of crates.

It had taken both Gibbs and Pierre to half-drag, half-carry Jack back to the _Pearl_. That had been three days ago. Gibbs shook his head as he glanced toward the closed doors of the Great Cabin. Fortunately, Jack had recovered sufficiently from his injuries to be up and about, although he was still too weak and lightheaded to resume his duties. Unfortunate for everyone aboard, the captain was also suffering from a bad case of cabin fever, the presence of the French dressmaker only aggravating matters all the more. Gibbs' only hope was that they reached their destination before somebody was actually "keeled."

--

Scarlett stood at the rail of the _Griselle_, gazing at the lights of the town, her mind a jumble of emotions after the evening's events. The ship beneath her feet gently rocked at her mooring in the dark waters of the horseshoe-shaped bay of Tortuga, her bare masts reaching upward into the black velvet of the sky, studded with the countless stars of the tropical night.

Apart from the gentle lapping of the waves against the ship, the night was quiet, with only the dull murmur of voices of the few sailors who remained on board, and the occasional roar of drunken laughter from the other vessels anchored nearby in the harbor. The sound of fiddle and mandolin wafted across the water, the melancholy strains of a familiar tune, hauntingly beautiful in its simplistic rendition.

Scarlett shivered, from both the night air and the tune. _Greensleeves_, a song from her childhood in England, a happier time before her world had come crashing down around her. She had no one else in the world now, no one to call family, except for her friend Giselle. It had taken almost losing her for Scarlett to come to that realization.

Earlier that evening, the doctor had given Giselle a sleeping draught before leaving, assuring Scarlett that her friend would recover from her injuries.

"The best thing for her these next few days is rest. I've left some powders to help her sleep," Doctor Mulhoney had told Scarlett, accepting the glass of port and a generous amount of coin from Captain Thomas, then lingering long enough to add some sage advice.

"When your friend has recovered, it might be best for the both of you to try to find a better place, perhaps one of the finer houses in the hills. You're both young and attractive; it shouldn't be difficult. It certainly would offer more protection than the taverns."

Scarlett had thanked the doctor, but she had worked at the _Garden of Eden _long enough to know the difficulties in finding a place truly safe for women of their ilk. And, after rushing off as she did, it was highly unlikely she'd have a position to go back to. With no money and no prospects, it appeared she would have to go back to the taverns and docks, and hope she didn't end up like Giselle.

She didn't hear Thomas approach, until he placed the thin blanket around her shoulders.

"Beautiful from out here, isn't it?" Thomas said gesturing towards the town's twinkling lights in the distance. "Almost magical, a paradise." He leaned back against the rail and sought out her eyes. "Unless, you know better."

Shrugging, Scarlett tried to keep her voice emotionless. "No place is a true paradise, once you get to know it."

"Or no one?" Thomas smiled.

"No one, no place."

Thomas chuckled. "Perhaps you just haven't found the right one."

Scarlett sighed and gazed out into the night. "Perhaps."

--

"It is my _— _how do you say it _— grande fortune_, to have met you," Pierre smiled at Jack as he daintily smeared jam onto a fresh baked scone. He took a bite, rolling his eyes as he dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Not only are you very brave and charming…"

It was Jack's turn to roll his eyes, scrutinizing the dandy dressmaker as he would a circling shark, with both fascination and impending doom.

_Ruddy blighter prattles on like a bloody wench! It's enough to drive an honest soul — or not so honest, as it were — to drink. Drink! Now there's a thought!_

Rubbing the goose egg-sized knot on the back of his head, Jack groaned as Pierre babbled on, then grabbed the half-empty bottle of rum sitting on the table, taking a long swallow.

"…you are most hospitable, and your cook, he is _très bon, le véritable artiste culinaire_."

"Well then," Jack suggested, grimacing as he went to stand up, "perhaps you and Mister Kirkland could have a nice, _long_ chat about it." He leaned on the table as the room began to spin, the throbbing of his bruised ribs making him wince.

"No, no, _monsieur_, do not try to walk!" Pierre rushed to offer help, his hands fluttering as Jack teetered perilously to port. "You should rest, here let me…"

Jack roughly brushed off the Frenchman's hands as the room twirled faster. Blinking his eyes, and with the utmost concentration, Jack groped his way carefully to his bunk, where he collapsed in a frustrated heap.

"Bugger."

"I do not believe, _mon cher capitaine_, that would be wise, in your condition." Pierre observed, fussing over him. "I shall bring you some water and a wet rag for your forehead. I do believe you are feverish; a cold poultice will work wonders. I wonder if your excellent cook has any…"

"Would you please shut it?!" Jack glared at him and added through clenched teeth. "Listen to me: I don't want any water or wet rags or poultry or whatever. I just want you to GO AWAY!"

"You are not yourself, it is the fever," Pierre went on, blithely ignoring him. "It is making you crazy. I will talk to your _Monsieur_ Kirkland. A nice cup of chamomile tea, or perhaps some comfrey, an herb most excellent to abate the fits of agues and allay the sharpness of humors..."

Feeling quite sharp and humorless at the moment, Jack decided his best defense was to just ignore the jabbering Pierre. He shut his eyes and feigned sleep.

_Don't know what I did to deserve this._

--

On the fourth day out of New Providence, Jack invoked the right of parley. The way he figured it, if he was going to be stuck in such close quarters with the diminutive dressmaker, Pierre, one of two things was going to happen: Either he was going to follow through on his numerous threats and finally "keel" the Frenchman, or he was going to find some manner in which to make the voyage more bearable.

Rum was good. Actually, rum was very good. With enough rum in his belly, Jack could almost tolerate the incessant prattling of Pierre's. Or, better yet, drink himself into oblivion, in which case he would not have to listen to him at all. Said remedy had been quite effective, the first few nights, when the combination of rum and wooziness from his head injury had rendered Jack, for the most part, more unconscious than conscious.

Now on the mend, Jack was finding it increasingly more difficult to convince Pierre to go away and leave him alone. Take that morning for example: it had started out innocent enough, as any other morning might. The sun had risen, the wind had freshened, and the watch had changed. All was calm, smooth sailing, until…

"_Bonjour, mon cher capitaine_!"

A disgustingly chipper Pierre minced his way into the cabin, balancing a tray upon which a pot of coffee and two cups sat nestled alongside a bowl of oranges, a plate of freshly baked scones and a crock of jam. To complete the vignette was a squat bottle sporting a bunch of… _flowers_?

"I have brought you _le petit-déjeuner exquis,_ from your most excellent cook, Monsieur Kirkland. _Est touts à votre satisfaction_?" Pierre set the tray carefully on the end of the bunk and began to pour the coffee.

_Where the bloody hell did he get flowers, in the middle of the bloody ocean?_

"Would you care for _crème et le sucre_?" he asked Jack, his eyebrows raised in a quizzical fashion.

"Rum." Jack sat up and folded his arms across his bare chest. He gestured with his chin towards the tray. "A tot of rum in me coffee. And no flowers."

Pierre raised his shoulders in apology. "They are to complete the palette; the colors are all so drab, so dismal," he complained, flapping a dismayed hand. "All this black, these room, it is like a tomb."

"All it's lacking is the bloody body," Jack muttered, glowering over his cup.

Pierre beamed. "Ah, but you are not dead. Your health, it has improved, no?" He spread a large dollop of jam on a warm scone and passed it to Jack. "You must eat, to regain your strength."

_It's like havin' a bloody nanny_! Jack scowled, but took the scone, munching it absentmindedly as he reflected on the situation.

On one hand, having the doting Pierre as a cabin boy was not completely without its rewards. Since he'd arrived, Jack had wanted for nothing, had been treated like the bloody Pirate King, for that matter, been waited on hand and foot. On the other hand, it was those same hands that were causing Jack a bit of concern. If he weren't patting or preening, arranging or smoothing him with them, Pierre was finding other excuses for his hands to stray Jack's way.

_Like a bloody kraken, that one. Waking up to them hands everywhere. Claims he's treating me wounds, though I'm pretty damn sure I weren't injured there. That part of me seems to be working just fine, actually. Bloody damn awkward, that. And the bloody frog's not making matters easier with his all talk about swords and thrusts…_

"You were _magnifique_!" Pierre reiterated, as he peeled an orange. Brandishing the paring knife like a sword, he waved it around as he gushed. "Your thrust, your parry!" Resuming peeling he added, with a coy glance from under his lashes, '"Alas, I am such a novice. You must show me how to handle your sword!"

Jack coughed and sputtered, spewing the coffee. _Enough!_ _Time to go_. He looked around and glowered. "May I ask why my breeches are gone, _again_?"

Pierre gave Jack an innocent look. "They were filthy. Rags, a disgrace!" He popped a slice of orange in his mouth and waved a vague hand towards the door. "They are out there."

"You threw them out?!" Jack bristled.

"It was my desire, _oui_." Pierre pouted. "But your _Monsieur_ Gibbous, he said it would be… how did he say it? _Dreadful bad luck_ to do so." He shrugged again. "So, I washed them."

Jack sat up in the bunk, dumbfounded. "You washed them?"

Pierre frowned. "They are in dreadful repair. You must allow me create you some new ones." He pointed to his own breeches, and added in excitement, "You should be dressed in finery fit for a King! I shall create a masterpiece! Black velvet breeches, with a fine linen shirt..." He paused and added in a sly tone, "All the women of Tortuga, they will ooh-la-la when they see you, _n'est-ce pas_?"

Jack leaned back and smiled. He knew of two women that, with the promise of a new gown, would make him a very happy man, indeed.

--

_This allegiance with Pierre might turn out to be a grande fortune, after all. _

"You must be tired," Thomas said. "Perhaps you would like to go below, out of the night air."

Scarlett nodded, tiredly, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders. It was reasonable to suppose that he would be wanting payment, in return for his hospitality. Not that she would begrudge him anything, after his kindness toward Giselle. It wouldn't be the first time she'd had to forgo sleep to make ends meet.

Thomas held the door to his cabin open as she passed, and followed her inside. The captain's cabin was below the quarterdeck, accessible only from the main deck. It was spacious yet cozy, with layers of Turkish rugs covering the floor, and large, softly upholstered chairs scattered in small groupings, and extra pillows tossed everywhere. Stacks of books nestled against chairs, and on the gallery ledge, as well as on the chart table and corner desk. The room spoke of a man who enjoyed his comforts, but not his excesses.

Scarlett had barely noticed the room earlier. Worried about Giselle, she'd spent her time sitting beside the bunk, separated from the main room by an ornately carved screen. Scarlett went immediately to check on her friend, and found Giselle peacefully asleep, nestled in the luxury of soft linen sheets, goose down pillows and deep mattress. The swelling on her face had gone down some, allowing her to be once again recognizable. It appeared she was dreaming, a small smile turning the corner of her mouth.

"She reminds me of my sister, Nell," Thomas said, in a low voice at Scarlett's elbow.

She turned in surprise. "Is that why you helped her?" Scarlett scanned his face, trying to fathom the motives behind those kind blue eyes.

Thomas chuckled and placed his arm around her shoulders. "Perhaps. There were other reasons, as well." He tilted his head toward the cabin. "She should sleep the night. Why don't I ring my cook, and get you something to eat? You must be famished."

Now that he mentioned it, Scarlett _was_ hungry. She couldn't remember when she'd eaten last. But the hour was incredibly late, or early, depending on which end of the day one began from. Dawn couldn't be but an hour or two away.

"No, don't wake him. It can wait until morning." Scarlett stood and gazed around the room, uncertain what was to come next. For sure, she thought her host would be expecting payment. His next words, however, came as something of a surprise.

"Well, if I cannot feed you, the least I can offer you is a place to sleep." Thomas smiled, eyes twinkling. "I'm afraid the bunk is already occupied. But the cushions in the chairs are quite comfortable. I've spent more than a few nights in them."

He walked around and plumped a couple of pillows, pointing to the largest and softest looking chair. "I will see that you are not disturbed. There is a basin in the corner and some brandy on the side table, if you feel inclined."

And with that, and a gracious bow, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Scarlett was too tired to attempt to understand the man. She thankfully settled down in the plush chair and fell immediately into an exhausted sleep, only to dream that she were a princess, held captive in the tall tower of a burning castle, the flames creeping up the spiral stair trapping her, unable to flee.


	16. Fit For A King

Title: Fit for a King  
Rating: R (suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack, Giselle, Scarlett and their guests  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with him

Summary: The voyage to Tortuga proves to be rather stormy for Jack and Pierre, while Scarlett and Thomas weather another type of storm on the _Griselle_.

**Fit for a King**

On the sixth day out of New Providence the parley was breached. And then, just as quickly, unbreeched. Having exhausted all avenues of attack, Pierre Bouspeut decided to cut to the quick.

_Snip snip._

"What the bloody hell are you doing?!"

Jack took several strides to where Pierre sat under the stern windows and ripped the fabric from his hands – literally. The rending sound brought another string of oaths from the already irate pirate.

"What the bloody buggering hell am I suppose to wear now?" Jack's eyes bugged out as he held up the remains of a pair of breeches – _his_ breeches. Or what was left of them.

Pierre only shrugged. "It seemed the best way to tear them away from you, _oui_?"

Jack was livid. "By tearing them up??" He held up the shredded garment in dismay. "If you wanted me out of me breeches, couldn't you have just asked like a normal person?"

With only his shirt remaining, Jack kept a tight hold on what was left of his breeks as he stomped across the cabin and rummaged through a side locker. He needed some rum… quick.

"I am afraid, _mon cher capitaine_," the singsong voice of Pierre came drifting across the room, "that the rum you search for so…so _désespérément_, it is not there."

Jack whirled in alarm. "Why's the rum gone?" he roared.

A knock on the door answered Jack's question.

"Where'd ya want us t' put 'em, Cap'n?"

"We fetched the lot of 'em fer you, just like you asked…even the ones with the pretty pictures on 'em."

Jack stared in astonishment at the two crewmen. The homunculus and his friend with the wooden eye stood at the doorway, their arms laden with bottles of wine.

_When did they come aboard?_

"Ah! _Merci beaucoup_!" Pierre clapped his hands in glee and rose from his perch under the stern windows. "You may place them there, on the table."

"Beggin' yer pardon, Cap'n," the tall, skinny one said, blinking his one blue eye. "Didn't mean t' interrupt, what with you bein' under the weather and such."

"It was mighty nice of you t' share yer rum with the crew," added the short, ugly one. "Always did say the cap'n was a true gentleman of fortune."

They deposited the bottles on the table and noting Jack's glare, quickly took their leave.

"You _gave_ me rum to the crew?" Jack asked the petite Pierre through clenched teeth.

Pierre waved his hand and said airily, "They say that God made wine to gladden the hearts of men." He shrugged. "The rum, it was giving you the bad humors."

Jack, who was most definitely in a bad humor by this time, decided he'd had enough.

"Bullocks! There's nothing wrong with me humors, 'cepting having t' put up with the likes of you! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have a word with me crew."

Jack turned and headed for the cabin door, still clutching his shredded breeks.

_Bloody thief! First me breeches, now me rum? Mr. Gibbs better remind me, once again, why the foppish fool-headed friggin' frog is on board me ship._

--

The storm moved in from the sea without warning, lashing rain and lightning upon the coast. Scarlett woke with a start as the thunder crashed overhead. It took her several seconds to remember where she was. Another flash of lightning illuminated the cabin, followed by a deafening clap of thunder, and she cringed, an involuntary whimper escaping her, as she covered her ears with her hands.

Worried that Giselle would awaken and be frightened, Scarlett fought back her own fears and hurried across the room, the lightning outside lending an eerie blue light to her path. To her relief, she found her friend sleeping peacefully, undisturbed by the violence of the storm.

The steady drumming of the rain masked the sound of Thomas returning to the cabin.

"Scarlett?" he called out as he lit a lantern. "Are you…"

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the noise of the storm. Not wanting to disturb Giselle, Scarlett rounded the corner of the screen, shrieking slightly as another clap of thunder reverberated throughout the cabin. Thomas caught her in his arms and held her close, an oasis of safety.

"Best be getting used to storms, lass, if you're going to live in these parts." He nodded his head towards the screen. "How's your friend?"

"Sleeping." Scarlett said with a wry grin. "Though I imagine Giselle would be liking this if she were awake. She always said the big storms were exciting."

Thomas smiled down at her. "And you?"

"I'll never get used to them, no matter how long I live here." Scarlett flinched at yet another loud boom.

"Well," Thomas said, eyes twinkling in the soft lantern light. "I've always heard the best way to overcome a fear is to occupy your mind elsewhere." He demonstrated by running his hand down her back, pulling her closer.

Scarlett shivered, whether from his touch, or the storm, she wasn't sure. On the next clap of thunder, he claimed her lips, his kiss firm, hungry. She surrendered herself to him, and he proceeded to 'distract' her as the storm continued in its fury.

Thomas turned out to be as generous a lover as Jack, taking the time to please her, as well as himself. Grateful for all his help, and kindness, Scarlett found herself actually wanting to please him in return, and more surprisingly, enjoying herself for the first time in what seemed a lifetime.

Later, as she lay in the crook of his arm, sated and still, her passion as spent as the storm, Scarlett realized she hadn't even noticed it go.

--

Jack was able to restore his good humors by commandeering several bottles of rum from his crew. After determining from Gibbs that the pestilent Pierre was, in fact more friend than foe, Jack decided to give the diminutive dressmaker another chance.

A chance to redeem himself… and replace his breeches.

Later that afternoon, and three quarters of a bottle of rum later, Jack glanced across the cabin with a drunken grin at Pierre, who sat diligently sorting through a pile of swag. Earlier that day, Jack had allowed the Frenchman to scour the hold for items that might be helpful for the singular task to which he had been assigned.

"Well?" Jack raised an eyebrow as Pierre held up several items.

"An assortment most excellent, oui," Pierre waved his hand at the pile in front of him. "The merchant you took this from must have been very rich, no? Look at these fabrics, fine silk and lovely velvets." He puffed out his chest and smiled, throwing his arms wide. "I shall make you the finest outfits, fit for a king!"

Jack grinned. It was a tempting thought. But, bloody impractical aboard ship. He could think of a much better use to put those fabrics to: his two favorite wenches. That gesture most certainly would put him back in their favor.

"Only need me a pair of breeches."

Pierre pouted. "You are certain? I cannot make you a nice waistcoat? Look at this fabric!" He held up a lovely red silk. "A new sash perhaps?"

Jack shook his head. "I know a lovely redhead that would look even lovelier in that color."

Sighing, Pierre set aside the silks and pulled out a bolt of broadcloth. "This is all I have left to choose from, _mon capitaine_." He looked truly devastated.

"Perfect!" Jack flashed Pierre a golden grin. "How long will it take?"

Pierre shrugged. "If I work most ardently, no more than one, perhaps two days."

"Well get to it, mate! Snap to. I'm going t' be needin' me breeches when we make port."

Jack smiled in anticipation of his return to Tortuga. With Pierre and his talents, there should be no argument with the two lasses. No doubt, by now, they were regretting their last behavior and would be waiting for him, with open arms.

_Who could resist?_

--

The morning dawned clear and bright, the previous night's storm leaving the air refreshed and cool. Scarlett yawned and stretched, enjoying a few minutes of blissful oblivion before bringing her present situation back to mind.

Thomas had already risen and was nowhere in sight. Scarlett lay for a few minutes on the plush cushions that had served as both bed and cocoon, smiling as she recalled the gentle passion that he had bestowed upon her. For a brief moment, she had actually forgotten who she was and allowed herself the luxury of enjoying the desire of an attractive, virile man.

_Silly. You'll only end up getting hurt._

The voice in her head nagged at her, reminding her of who she was, _what_ she was. Sighing once more, she rose and went to check on Giselle. It was imperative that she find them both a place to stay, and the only way to afford that was to get back to work. As nice of a luxury as her stay on the _Griselle_ had been, it was only temporary, a brief respite from the harsh reality waiting on shore.

Scarlett found Giselle awake, though groggy. Her eyes were both blackened and puffy, although the swelling had gone down considerably. When she saw Scarlett, she tried to smile, wincing at her swollen and split lips. Running her tongue along her mouth, her greeting came out in a croak.

"Letty! I thought… I was afraid… I'd never see you again."

"Shhh!" Scarlett hurried over and took Giselle's hand. "Don't try to speak. You're safe, now." She poured a cup of water from the ewer next to the bunk. "Here, drink this," she said in a soothing voice, holding her friend up so she could take a sip.

Giselle swallowed some water, clutching onto Scarlett's hand for support as she laid back on the bunk. She closed her eyes and for a moment Scarlett thought she had drifted off to sleep. But then she opened her eyes, and spoke in a hoarse whisper.

"You were right, Letty. I should never have trusted them." She stared up at Scarlett and began to whimper. "I don't know why they were so mean, Letty. I was being nice, did everything they asked. Why did they want to hurt me?"

Scarlett held her hand and tried to reassure her, but inside she was seething - at the senselessness of the act and something else, something she'd never seen before in Giselle's eyes: shame.

--


	17. Taking Matters in Hand

Title: Taking Matters in Hand  
Rating: R (suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack, Giselle, Scarlett and their guests  
Disclaimer: Disney owns most of them, I just play with them. The OC's are not up for grabs either.

Summary: Both Scarlett and Jack get a helping hand to help handle the problem at hand.

--

Scarlett trudged her way up the hill toward the outskirts of town, the midday sun beating down on her bare head and shoulders. She lamented having forgotten a parasol, knowing her fair skin would freckle mercilessly under the scorching sun. If Scarlett had one thing left to be proud about, it was her flawless skin, lily-white and blemish-free, the only remaining semblance she had of being a lady.

Her destination was her former place of employment, The Garden of Eden. After having run off a few nights previous, without a word of explanation to anyone, Scarlett was too pragmatic to hope that she would still have a position. In her panic concerning the news of the attack on Giselle, her only thoughts had been for her friend. Now, in the sobering light of day, the reality of her actions was all too clear. No longer would she have the protection of the bordello, to protect her from a similar fate as had befallen Giselle.

The injured Giselle remained behind, under the temporary protection of Captain Thomas, a stranger who had befriended them both, for motives still unclear in Scarlett's mind. The fact that he was a friend of Jack Sparrow's allayed her concerns somewhat, but she was reluctant to trust any man purely on another's word. Yet, Thomas had shown nothing but kindness, to her and her friend, going as far as to offer them shelter on his ship, until other arrangements could be made.

Said arrangements were what had driven Scarlett from Giselle's side, and out into the hot sun of a Tortuga day. It was imperative she find some way to repay the kindness of the good Captain, and more permanent—and hopefully safe-- lodgings for her and Giselle. But first, Scarlett needed to resolve if she still had a position with her employer – and, if not, attempt to retrieve her personal effects.

After a long, dry walk, Scarlett finally reached her destination. The building sat in languid silence, the buzzing of bees amidst the flowering vines the only sound to disturb its tranquil slumber. With some trepidation, she climbed the stairs of the front porch, her face flushed and hot, her skirts dusty. A trickle of sweat snaked its way down her back as she wiped her palms on her skirts, smoothed her hair and rang the bell.

It was several minutes before the door was answered by the mulatto maid. She peered out through the windowpane before opening the door. She did not smile.

"You no come in by front door. Coo, you no work here." She started to shut the door, but Scarlett put her foot on the threshold and stopped her.

"Please, I need to speak to the Madame."

The maid shook her head. "You no work here," she repeated with conviction. "Go." She once again tried to close the door, but was interrupted by a voice from behind.

"Leave it, I will handle this."

Madame Rose appeared over the maid's shoulder, an imposing figure even in her silk dressing gown and slippers, obviously having recently risen for the day. She gave Scarlett a withering glance and jerked her head towards the anteroom off the main hall.

"You have five minutes," she said in a brusque voice, as the maid scurried off down the darkened hallway. Settling herself in a large upholstered chair, as if a queen on her throne, Madame Rose waved her hand at Scarlett. "State your business," she commanded.

Scarlett found herself flushed and stammered. "I came to apologize; I realize I left rather abruptly…"

"You left with one of my better customers, no doubt to pocket whatever he'd agreed for the night's entertainment, a transgression unacceptable in this establishment." Madame Rose's disapproval was stamped on her face. "For someone with so little rank, for the short time you were here, you certainly put on airs," she added with scorn. "The other girls informed me that you were both unpleasant, and superior, in your dealings with them. They were not sorry to see you go."

"It's not how you think, truly!" Scarlett pressed to offer a self-defense. "I would never have rushed off as I did, except I heard news of a friend, who had been grievously injured." She took a deep breath. "I promise you it will not happen again."

"It most certainly will not. You no longer have a position here. You'd best go back to the gutter from where you came." Madame Rose stood, signifying the interview was over. "As I told the others, a tavern slattern never rises above the filth."

"Very well." Scarlett squared her shoulders and swallowed the bile rising in her throat. "May I at least be permitted to gather my belongings?"

"Certainly." Rose smiled, a hard curl of the lips that did not reach her eyes. "I instructed the girls to remove them from the premise. I believe you will find them in the dust heap."

--

Jack, still clad only in his knee-length shirt, was perched on top of the heavy Captain's chair in his cabin on the Black Pearl, trying to remain patient while the diminutive dressmaker, Pierre, busily took measurements for the new breeches he'd been commissioned to make.

"Oh!" exclaimed Pierre in affected dismay. He made another disgusted sound. "It is so large!"

Startled, since he was quite unaccustomed to criticisms of such nature, Jack took a puzzled look down. "Eh?"

"Look at it!" Pierre went on in a flurry of hands. "Like a balloon, it billows!"

Jack bent to peer slightly closer. "Doesn't do that ordinarily," he murmured under his breath.

"Such a burden to your savoir-faire!" The little man sounded nearly acrimonious with mortification.

Propping his hands on his hips, Jack mused. "Never considered it a burden either," he said through the corner of his mouth.

"I shall create you a new one," Pierre squealed, clapping his hands. "A smaller one, a more stylish one!"

"What!!"

"Oui! All it will take is a few snips here, a few tucks there… and voilà!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

Whirling with glee, Pierre stopped, his face falling at the look on Jack's. "Your shirt," he explained, barely patient. "It is énorme, like a chemise."

"I knew that!" Jack straightened indignantly. "Knew that all the time. Breeches," he said, recovering his composure to point a stern finger. "That was our agreement."

"Ah!" Pierre gave a Gallic shrug as he flipped a dismissive hand. "Agreements. Treaties. You English are all so concerned with these rules."

"Breeches!" hissed Jack between a glaringly false display of teeth.

Pierre went back to his task at hand with a small huff. Silence descended on the cabin, as the obviously upset Pierre continued taking his measurements. Jack fidgeted on the chair, the deafening silence was worse than Pierre's constant prattling. Unable to stand it any longer, Jack made an attempt to appease the couturière.

"So what exactly do you plan to do in Tortuga?" Jack asked.

"Mfopen meupf meown shoppfe," Pierre managed around a mouthful of pins.

Jack raised a quizzical brow. "It that so. And who, pray tell will be shoppfeng in your shoppfe?"

Pierre glared up at Jack. Removing the pins from his mouth, Pierre explained. "You are well known in this Tortuga, oui? Your good word with the ladies, it with be enough, je suis correcte?"

Jack glittered a grin his way and conceded, "I know of several. Make that dozens… more or less, mostly more…" He paused and smiled to himself, contemplating the welcome he was certain to receive.

The women will positively flock, especially at the promise of a new gown.

Jack's mind, wandering towards the carnal, was not helping matters at hand. Pierre's hands, groping and wrapping, and otherwise meandering along Jack's thighs were an added distraction, adding to the growing problem.

"Mon capitaine!" Pierre stepped back and threw up his hands in disgust. "How am I to get a measurement most accurate, if the measurement, it keeps growing?"

Jack glanced down at himself, noting the definite protrusion under his shirt. He gave a wicked grin. "As you were gent." After no noticeable change occurred, Jack shrugged. "Never did listen to me. Mind of his own that one."

Irate, Pierre waved a long strip of paper at Jack and spewed a string of epithets. Jack managed to translate most of them, smirking at the more colorful, including one which, if Jack's rudimentary grasp of the French language was correct, made a distinct comparison between a certain part of his anatomy and a common barnyard animal.

"Look at these!" Pierre sputtered, holding out the strip of paper on which several notches had been made. "I cannot create your most precious breeches if you keep changing the measurements!

"Can I bloody well help it, if me parts are wanting attention?" Jack groused. "Been a bloody long time between ports and you and your bloody hands are not helping matters." Jack narrowed his eyes. "Unless you've a better idea, I suggest you work around the wee problem."

Pierre rolled his eyes. "That is the problem; it is not a wee problem. It is a problem most magnifique, but not what you call wee, oui?"

"Really?" Jack rolled his eyes in turn.

"Oui!" Pierre surveyed the display with an eye that was measuring more than inseams. Without warning, he snaked a hand under the shirttail and made a fortuitous grab.

With a sputtering choke, Jack froze, a pleasurably shocked look replacing the startled one.

"One should never refer to one such as this as 'wee'." Pierre affirmed.

A crooked smile grew—along with other things, as Pierre took matters in hand. Literally. Jack wanted to reply—actually had something quite clever to say, truth be told—but found he was suddenly tongue-tied.

Pierre smiled, innocently, batting his eyelashes. "But, since you insist, I am certain that I shall be able to handle this not so wee problem most satisfactorily. Would you not agree?"

"Oui," Jack managed to croak.

--

Thomas awoke to find Scarlett gone. Figuring she'd gone ashore for necessities, he didn't give the matter much thought. But, when she hadn't returned by mid-afternoon, he began to worry that perhaps something had happened to her. He did not believe Scarlett would willingly abandon her friend and decided to go ashore and see if he could find where she went. Heading up the hill, Thomas figured the first place to look for her would be her former place of employment.

Thomas found Scarlett kneeling in the dirt of the stable yard behind the brothel, tears streaming down her face. In her hand was a broken wooden box, its contents scattered amidst the straw and muck from the stalls.

"Scarlett!"

Startled, she hurriedly wiped the tears from her face. "Captain Thomas! Whatever are you doing here?" She stood up, brushing the straw and dirt from her skirt. "How is Giselle? Who is with her?"

Thomas smiled with relief. "She is safe. I have both my first mate and cook keeping an eye on her. They are both reliable and trustworthy," he reassured her. "I thought I might be able to help explain matters to the Madame."

Scarlett sighed and shook her head. "It won't do any good, I am afraid." She looked down at the soiled items in her hands and added, her voice breaking, "Just as well, I suppose. They all hate me."

Thomas glanced over his shoulder at the house, where several curtains swiftly fell back into place. Their meeting was not going unobserved. "Why do you think that?" he asked, curious as to what might have already transpired.

Scarlett didn't answer as she bent down and picked up a mud-covered broach, wiping it with her thumb. She bit her lip, tears once again welling in her eyes.

"Yours?" he asked her in a gentle voice.

Scarlett nodded. "It was my mother's." Turning, she blurted out in bitter anguish, "This was all I had left to remember her by, all I treasured! And they took it and threw it out like the morning's slop."

Scarlett wiped her eyes and went back to rummaging through the kitchen garbage, several chickens pecking alongside. She crammed the items she found into the box, obviously not wanting to linger longer than necessary.

Thomas sensed she was not looking for sympathy yet he could not help but feel for the poor woman. He squatted down beside her. "Let me at least settle with the Madame for your wages," and said in a low voice. "You go on back to your friend, I'll catch up later." He felt his anger building at the callous behavior of the others. Compensation for lost wages was the least he could do to help.

Thomas studied Scarlett as she made her way down the lane. An enigma waiting to be explored; he'd sensed, from their first meeting that she was different from the other wenches he'd known. She was still a strumpet, yes, but a reluctant one. He looked forward to learning more about her.


	18. Time to Heal

Title: Time To HealRating: R (suggestive situations)  
Characters: Jack, Giselle, Scarlett and their guests  
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with him

Summary: They say time heals all wounds. That remains to be seen.

--

The crew of the _Black Pearl_ was busy readying the ship for making port as they rounded the point and entered the horseshoe-shaped bay at Tortuga. Jack, except for a few lingering bruises, had fully recovered from the beating he had taken days earlier. Sporting a new pair of breeches, he stood at the helm, guiding his beloved ship through the mouth of the harbor. It felt good to be back at the wheel of the _Pearl _and free from the confines of his cabin.

_And that clinging vine Pierre._

As if reading his mind, the sing-song voice of Pierre wafted across the deck.

"No, no _Monsieurs_! They mustn't be turned on their heads! It will ruin them!"

Jack peered at the scene below, where two of his crewmen were struggling with Pierre's manikins. As he spun about with a headless form in his arms, the belligerent homunculus appeared to be dancing with his, a true _Danse Macabre__._

"Don't know how we can be setting 'em on their heads," Ragetti said, "what with them being headless and all that."

"Shut up and help me get this one off me," Pintel groused, the teetering dummy almost as tall as he.

Pierre flitted around the two like a startled hen, whose chicks were being threatened by a hawk. He squawked and flapped his arms as the two men wrestled the dress forms towards the cargo net.

Gibbs joined Jack at the helm. He nodded his head towards the Frenchman. "What's t' become of that one, once we make port?"

"Don't think that right concerns us, do you Mister Gibbs?" Jack raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Our bargain – or I should say, _yours_ – was only to see him safely to Tortuga." He waved a vague hand towards the busy harbor and crowded docks.

Jack had brought the Pearl sharp up on a port tack, while the hands began to lay loft to furl the fore and main courses and fore topmast staysail. They made their way past the point and entered the bay with the town off their starboard beam.

Gibbs eyes lit up at the sight of it. "Perhaps we'll be staying a spell this time, Cap'n?"

"Aye. A nice leisurely visit at that." Jack was looking forward to spending some time ashore and in the company of his two favorite ladies of the night once again.

_Surely by now they'd had time to forget about that minor…disagreement._

"Let go starboard anchor," Jack shouted from the quarterdeck. His plan was to anchor further out in the bay but the wind picked up somewhat so that they couldn't find a good hold. He gave orders then to weigh anchor; it appeared they would have to choose another spot on the other side of the bay, closer in.

Glancing over at the docks, as the ship tacked in towards shore, Jack noticed a familiar ship moored there, a two-masted xebec, with a bright blue hull.

"Mister Gibbs!" Jack was grinning widely. "You happen t' recognize that fine vessel tied up there?" He waved an enthusiastic hand towards the other ship.

Gibbs peered in the direction Jack was indicating. "Aye, Cap'n," he smiled broadly. "'Pears t' be the _Griselle_, sir."

Jack was almost dancing in his excitement. "Aye, that it does, indeed."

Thomas, the captain of the _Griselle, _was an old friend of Jack's, though it had been several years since they'd last crossed paths. Jack's enthusiasm at seeing his long-lost friend once again, was tempered somewhat by recollections of their last meeting.

_Foolish, really, to have gotten into such a fray over a woman. Flighty thing, she was, truth be told. Mind like a flying fish, jumping about all the time. God knows there's enough of those around; good friends are a much more scarce commodity. Well, time enough now to set things right. Water under the proverbial bridge and all that. _

A string of exasperated French expletives floated up from the deck. Frowning, Jack jerked a thumb in the general direction of the sound. "What say we off-load our extra cargo in as expeditious and inconspicuous manner as possible, shall we?"

_I'll never hear the end of it, otherwise. Bloody bad enough to have had t' be tormented the entire voyage. Don't need any further tormentin', especially from the likes of the good Captain Thomas. _

Jack scowled at the thought of Thomas meeting Pierre. That might not necessarily be the best of social situations. Besides, as he recalled, he still owed Thomas a drink – several drinks, actually – the result of an unfortunate wager that Jack had unwisely made. Jack decided he would just send Pierre on his merry way before seeking out his friend. Perhaps even see if his two favorite wenches were available. What better way to renew old acquaintances than with plenty of rum and a salty wench or two?

--

"Don't fret, Letty." Giselle reached over and patted her friend's hand. "We'll get you another one, don't worry." She tried to give Scarlett an encouraging look. "A better one!"

Scarlett shook her head, and managed only a tenuous smile back. It had been almost two weeks, since the brutal attack on Giselle. The cuts and bruises had all but healed, leaving only pale shadows of the horrors of what had been. Even more encouraging was the return of the sparkle in Giselle's eyes. Ten days she had lain in the bunk on the _Griselle_, listless and withdrawn, her eyes dull and vacant.

Someone else, perhaps one less resilient, might never have recovered. But Giselle was a fighter, and an eternal optimist, and even in the face of such brutality, was able to see something worthwhile in world around her. She now sat propped up among a pile of pillows, on the Turkish rug that covered the floor of the _Griselle's _Great Cabin. Cross-legged, in her thin chemise, hair braided and coiled around her head, she gave one a glimpse of the young, innocent girl she once had been, before life – and its cruel twists of fate – had caught her in its snare.

"But you worked so hard to buy me that one," Scarlett said, buttering a scone and handing it to Giselle. She added a dollop of jam to her own and took a bite, rolling her eyes closed with delight. In front of her, an elegant china platter, obviously a treasure pilfered from some merchant ship in a past raid, held a mound of fresh baked scones, nestled amidst an assortment of sweet breads, along with crocks of marmalade and honey. A bowl of oranges and a steaming pot of strong coffee rounded out the simple but satisfying meal.

It was a marvel the quality of life they'd found on a pirate's ship, of all places. Captain Thomas had insisted they stay, despite the fact that they had no way of repaying him for his hospitality. Losing her position at the bordello had not only cost Scarlett her income, but also her precious sewing box, the one Giselle had given her on her last birthday. She lamented the loss, knowing the levels of sacrifice her friend had made to acquire it.

"Trifles," Giselle said, around a mouthful of scone, waving a hand vaguely at the room. The gesture reminded Scarlett of Jack Sparrow, someone she'd almost trusted as a friend. Their last meeting had ended with harsh words and hurt feelings. She hadn't seen him since.

There was a soft knock on the door before it opened. Captain Thomas, on whose ship the two women were temporarily calling home, prodded the door open with his boot, his arms piled high with a colorful assortment of clothes. His blue eyes were twinkling as he carefully maneuvered his way into the room, finally depositing his load into one of the overstuffed chairs.

"Ladies, how are you this fine morning?"

He walked to the table, where Scarlett was sitting, and poured a cup of coffee, nodding his approval at the repast spread before him.

"I see Youssef has provided you some sustenance for the day." Thomas took a long sip of his coffee and closed his briefly eyes, with a satisfied sigh. Smiling, he gestured toward the chair bearing the clothing. "I have not been idle, myself, ladies. My good cook is not the only one that can conjure up delights."

Thomas stepped to the chair in a few long strides, and held up a gold gown of the finest silk, with intricate embroidery and fringed bodice. Bowing with exaggerated formality, he held out the gown to Giselle. "For you, madam." He glanced at Scarlett and winked.

Giselle's eyes lit with joy, and clapped her hands in delight. "Oh! It's beautiful!"

She struggled to stand, wincing at the movement. In one fluid move, Thomas picked her up by the waist, and set her lightly on her feet, with the ease as if she were a small child. With one hand bracing her by the shoulder, he held the dress up to her with the other, nodding his approval.

"Looks to be a perfect fit." Eyes sparking with tease, he chucked Giselle gently under the chin. "What say you try it on?"

Scarlett caught his eyes over Giselle's head. She nodded slightly, affirming his intuition. The best way for Giselle – or any woman-- to feel better about her self on the inside, was to feel pretty on the outside, once again. Rising, Scarlett sorted through the rest of the garments. There were several shifts and stays, as well as another gown, a rich burgundy. She raised a suspicious eyebrow, only to be met with the most innocent of looks from Thomas.

"How did you…?" Thomas hushed Scarlett, with a finger to her lips.

"I grew up with four sisters," he explained. "Best cure for the calamities of life; a new gown." He gave her a little nudge, towards the decorative screen that separated the sleeping quarters from the salon. "Why don't you go help your friend get over hers?"


	19. Welcome to Tortuga

Chapter 19 – Welcome to Tortuga

****

They weren't at the _Faithful Bride_, or the _Strutting Cock_, the _Braying Ass _or even the _Crow_'s_ Nest_. Jack checked the _Crown & Scepter_ (too fancy), the _Winking Maiden_ (too seedy) to no avail. It was as if the two wenches, Scarlett and Giselle, had disappeared off the island of Tortuga altogether.

"Perhaps they've gone on holiday," Gibbs said, trying to be helpful.

Jack frowned at his quartermaster. "They're strumpets. Their idea of 'holiday' is a new ship in port."

"These _crumpets_, they must be special to you, non?" Pierre appeared at Jack's elbow, like a bad dream. "If I were a maiden most fair, I too would fancy _le capitaine, oui_."

Jack frowned even deeper. "Go away!"

Pierre pouted, but nonetheless continued to dog their steps. Ignoring him, Jack set out up the street towards the haberdashery over which Scarlett and Giselle rented a room, fully confident that they would be there – after all, if they were not working, where else would they be?

There were not there either. Not only that, the proprietor and landlord, Mr. Beasley, announced they'd moved out several weeks before, their destination unknown.

"Good riddance," Mrs. Beasley piped up from behind the counter. "A cheap pair of tarts, bringing nothing but shame to this fine establishment." She pointed her nose in the air, reminding Jack of a fox hound, a rather plump one. "My husband is well rid of them."

Pierre, who was poking around the dusty shop, gave the woman a withering look. "You call this finery? Pah!" He picked up some ribbons and tossed them back onto the table in disgust. "Cheap, tawdry! Why, I would never subject one of my masterpieces to this… this disgraceful rubbish!"

Mrs. Beasley bristled, her mouth forming a perfect circle as she fumed, "What does a dandy, such as you, know about quality? My husband…"

"…knows not the first thing about the fashion!" Pierre was suddenly animated, waving his arms around. "I have trained in the finest houses of fashion in Paris. I would be the laughing stock, no better than a _couturière,_ were I to use any of these on one of my creations!"

Jack used the distraction to slip out the door unseen, while Pierre and Mrs. Beasley continued to argue. There was one place left to check. It wasn't one where Jack would ordinarily expect to find the girls, but he'd run out of other options. He headed up the street at a fast pace, a determined set to his jaw.

"What now, Cap'n?" Gibbs asked, trotting to keep up with Jack.

Jack nodded his head towards the hills, where the more exclusive establishments were located. "Only one place left they could be: The _Purple Rose_."

****

"What do you think he wants?" Giselle asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the _Griselle's _Great Cabin. It was late afternoon and the two women were enjoying a rare moment of leisure, engaging in a bit of girl talk as they fixed each other's hair.

Scarlett paused for a moment. "I don't know, he hasn't mentioned any payment." She shrugged then resumed braiding Giselle's hair. "Though I highly doubt he's doing all this out of the kindness of his heart."

"I dunno, Letty. Thomas seems to be a nice…" Giselle started to reply, before her roommate interrupted with a snort.

"Now don't you go getting all starry eyed over this one!" Scarlett scolded, setting down the brush with a thump. "You see where your trust in Jack Sparrow got you. And this man is a friend of Jack's. And more importantly, he's a man. They're all the same, only interested in one thing."

"Maybe." Giselle shrugged, going over to the mirror. "But this Thomas seems different – don't you think?" She glanced at her friend, with a hopeful look.

Scarlett leaned back in the chair. "I don't want to think," she sighed. "Then you get to hoping, and next thing you know, you're being disappointed, or worse." She sat up and said decisively, "No, once we get you up and about, we'll find us a place to stay, and a way to pay back Captain Thomas for his troubles."

****

"Ain't seem 'em," the bartender at the _Purple Rose_ said with a shrug, wiping the bar with a grubby rag. "Don't believe they'd fit in with this establishment, even if they did try. The Madame running this place don't take just no one." He glanced around and lowered his voice. "Gotta have credentials."

Jack frowned. "What sort of credentials? They're strumpets."

A voice shrilled from behind him. "We don't use that word in this establishment. Dreadful, demeaning, just like all the rest of 'em." The woman flounced past Jack and Gibbs addressing the bartender in a voice dripping with contempt. "Stephen, show these _gentlemen_ to the door. Our cliental do not cater to the likes of them."

"Don't see where me bit of shine is no less spendable than the next blighters," Jack protested. "Nor where you get off acting so high toned and fancy about it all."

"You best come along with me," Stephen said quietly, "Else she'll have the lot of 'em down on you."

Jack fitted his hat back on his head, and frowned. He wasn't used to being thrown out of a brothel. Well, at least not when he had money to spend. "Is she always so disagreeable?" he asked of the bartender. "It's a wonder any blighters bother to do business with her t'all."

Stephen glanced over at the doorway, where the irate woman stood, hands on hips. "Ol' Florrie's not so bad, s'long as you don't ruffle her feathers. She don't think too highly of men."

"And she runs a brothel?" Jack shook his head in disbelief. He glanced up at the sign over the door: _Purple Rose Social Club_. "Not sure _sociable_ is exactly how I'd describe 'em."

Jack turned and stomped off, coat swirling around his boots, Gibbs trotting to keep up.

"Where to now, Cap'n?" he panted, as they retraced their steps back towards the waterfront.

Jack was in a foul mood. Bad enough he'd had to endure the pestilent Pierre throughout the voyage. Now to find both his favorite wenches missing, not to mention the flagrant insults from Flouncing Florrie, put him of a mind to do one thing: get piss drunk.

****

Captain Thomas whistled a jaunty tune as he made his way along the street, his destination the haberdashery, where he hoped to procure some ribbons and other fancies. He smiled as his thoughts drifted to the two women who were presently staying on board his ship, the _Griselle_. Strumpets, true. But beneath their powder and rouge, he had found two lovely and appreciative lasses, who could have graced any fine parlor on the island, had the circumstances in their lives taken a different path.

The younger one, the blonde Giselle, was a sweet, if somewhat naïve thing, with an undaunting spirit, considering the brutal treatment she had received at the hands of a gang of drunken sailors. Though it was the other, the redhead Scarlett that intrigued Thomas the most. Fiercely loyal to her friend, the toughened exterior Scarlett presented to the world belayed her inner self, both insecure and sensitive, as she struggled to survive in a world both harsh and cruel.

Thomas wasn't sure what it was that had drawn him to the women; he certainly wasn't in the habit of investing much time or emotion on a whore. In and out, cut and run, was usually his motto. But after seeing that poor girl brutalized that way, with nowhere to go, he had offered the pair sanctuary on his ship, allowing them both time to recover from their ordeal. Now, with Giselle's injuries all but healed, she and Scarlett would soon be taking their leave. But before they did, Thomas had decided to offer a parting gift in the way of a new sewing kit for Scarlett. Her previous one, a present from Giselle, had been lost amid the chaos of the days following the attack.

Thomas reached his destination and frowned, his reverie disturbed by loud, angry voices coming from the notions shop. Curious, he peered through the dusty shop window to see what was causing the commotion. He guffawed at the sight before him. A large, rotund woman was standing in the middle of the shop, wielding a parasol as if it were a club. Opposite her stood a petite dandy fellow, French from the sound of it, also wielding a parasol, as if it were a sword. Thomas watched in amusement as the diminutive man parried and thrust, apparently intent on disarming his opponent. A third person, a gaunt man with wispy grey hair and spectacles perched on the end of his long nose, stood aside, wringing his hands in dismay.

"Edna, please!" the thin man pleaded, cringing as a errant sweep of her parasol knocked a display of talcum boxes to the floor, enveloping both combatants in a cloud of sweet-smelling powder.

The Frenchman sneezed before taking the advantage with a quick thrust of his own, sending an assortment of beads, buckles, buttons, and other small items clattering underfoot. Another parry and a display of yarns, laces, ribbons, and trimmings became the additional casualties.

The woman turned to her husband, her hair in disarray and covered in powder. "Don't you 'Edna' me!" she shrieked, waving her parasol weapon at him. "If you were half the man I married, you'd defend me against this beast!"

"Beast?!" The equally powdered dandy sputtered in protest. "You act, the animal, yet you call ME the beast?" He swung his weapon, toppling a pile of hats, sending up new dust cloud as they fell.

Thomas chose that moment to step inside, deftly sidestepping the tumbling hats. With two steps, he had reached the combatants, disarming the woman with one swift move. Then, turning to the smaller man he held up a hand. "What seems to be the problem?" he demanded loudly.

The Frenchman pointed his parasol at the woman and said indignantly, "She called me a beast! How dare she, this peasant! She calls this a shop of finery?! Pshaw!! It is nothing more than gimcrack and garbage!"

The woman's face went florid as she sputtered and waved her arms, her enormous bosom heaving. She reminded Thomas of an albatross, flapping its wings in a futile attempt to take flight. Seeing he had the advantage, the Frenchman advanced, backing the woman with menacing jabs of the parasol.

Having not enjoyed a good laugh in a long time, Thomas was tempted to sit back and watch, but, he had come for a reason and it was getting late. With a sigh, he took two long strides and grabbed the Frenchman by the collar, swiftly disarming him of his weapon with the other hand. Shaking his head and trying not to laugh, Thomas turned to the quivering shopkeeper, safely tucked away behind the counter.

"Pardon the interruption, but I was hoping to purchase a sewing kit." Thomas glanced around the shambles of the notion shop and shook his head in mock dismay. "It appears it might not be a good time. Perhaps I should return tomorrow?" He turned and frowned at the man squirming in his grasp. "In the meantime, I will see that this scoundrel is escorted elsewhere."

It was the Frenchman's turn to sputter. "Scoundrel?" He waved his arms wildly and stomped his foot. "This is a grave insult, you have cut me to the quick. I am no more a scoundrel than my good friend, _Capitaine_ Sparrow, who was most kind to have brought me here." He threw up his hands in disgust. "Pah! Another island populated by peasants."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Jack Sparrow?" He released his hold on the man's collar and smiled. "Well, I'll be hog swalloped. That ol' son of the scurvy dog's here in Tortuga?!" He brushed off his hand and stuck it out. "A friend of Jack's deserves an introduction at least. Name's Thomas."

"You are a friend of my wonderful _Capitaine_? This is truly a fortuitous event!" The Frenchman shook his hand with vigor. "I am Pierre Bouspeut. It is a pleasure to meet a fellow friend of _Capitaine_ Sparrow." He gave Thomas a bow and said with glee, "Come! Let us go have a drink and celebrate our most illustrious friend together."

The shopkeeper found his voice and squeaked, "What about my shop?"

"This horrible man should be arrested!" His wife, regaining her voice, echoed him.

Thomas laughed then, a deep belly laugh that he'd been holding in, slapping his leg and shaking his head. "Welcome to Tortuga!" Turning his back on the outraged shop keepers, he gestured to the door with his head. "Monsieur Bouspeut, I am ready to take you up on that offer of a drink, and the tale of how you happened to be sailing in consort with Jack Sparrow."

****


	20. Paradise Found

Chapter 20 – Paradise Found

****

"So, you tell me you are a friend of Jack Sparrow." Thomas eyed the diminutive Frenchman Pierre, whose head barely reached his shoulder, with a dubious look. "Don't believe he's ever mentioned you."

The two men were comfortably ensconced in one of the booths at the back of the _Faithful Bride_. Thomas had delayed his return to his ship, partly due to the fact that he had not yet procured that for which he had come ashore: a new sewing kit for Scarlett. Hearing what the parasol-wielding Pierre had to say was somewhat of a bonus.

Pierre sat back with a wistful smile. "That is because it is only most recently that I have had the pleasure of making his acquaintance." He batted his eyes at Thomas and took a dainty sip of his wine. Crinkling his snub-nose, he grimaced and set the glass aside before continuing. "You have known the good _capitaine_ for some time, _oui_?"

Thomas chuckled. "Jack Sparrow and I go way back, sailed together for many a year. Hell, I was with Jack when he took his first ship and bedded his first whore." Thomas drained his tankard of rum and signaled the serving girl for another round. "Care for some more wine?" he asked Pierre politely, nodding toward the barmaid.

The small man shook his head and pulled out a lace -trimmed handkerchief, and patted his lips, as if it might remove the disgusting taste from his mouth. "Pah! That vinegar? I would rather die of thirst."

"Suit yourself," Thomas shrugged, tossing some coins on the table and filling his own cup. He pushed the bottle towards Pierre in a friendly gesture, in case he was to change his mind. "So, tell me, how did you happen to meet Jack?"

Thomas eyed the Frenchman curiously. The odd little fellow was not at all like who he would have expected to find keeping company with Jack Sparrow. Thomas had always taken Jack to be more of a ladies' man.

_Damn!_ Thomas thought to himself. It had been ages since he'd crossed paths with Jack. Their last meeting had ended rather acrimoniously, with heated words on both sides.

Lost in thought, it took Thomas a moment to realize that Pierre was speaking.

"So there we were, surrounded by the most dreadful of ruffians, their intentions most clearly presented in their enormous, thrusting swords." Pierre demonstrated with an animated thrust of his own, nearly toppling the rum bottle.

Thomas grabbed the bottle and raised an eyebrow at the antics of his unlikely companion. "Swords. Thrusting, you say," he mused, trying to keep a straight face.

"They were enormous!" Pierre sat back down and straightened his cuffs." But they were nothing, compared to the fine instrument of our good friend, Jack Sparrow," he added, with a sly glance from under his fine lashes. "Unsheathed, it is most magnifique! Truly a masterpiece! "he declared, with grey-eyed delight.

It was too much to bear. Thomas erupted in a roar of laughter, slapping his thigh in mirth. "A masterpiece, you say?" He managed to choke out, before succumbing to another round of laughing.

"It is not funny, _monsieur_ Thomas," Pierre said, obviously affronted. "To be thrust upon by three assailants, one after the other. Our friend Jack, he might have been killed!"

"_Keeled_?" Thomas wiped his eyes, trying not to start laughing again. The way the dandy was describing things, it sounded more like an orgy, than a street fight.

"_Oui_. If not for myself and the good _Monsieur_ Gibbous, Jack might not be here with us today."

Thomas peered through the smoke-thickened air of the tavern. "Speaking of which: where _is_ the gallant Captain Jack Sparrow?"

"I do not know." Pierre shrugged indifferently, bored with the subject. "He went off in search of some very special crumpets."

Thomas scratched his head, but thought better of asking the Frenchman to elaborate. Some things are best left unsaid.

"So, what brings you to Tortuga?" he asked instead, changing the subject.

Pierre brightened. "I plan on opening a dressmaking shop, once I find a suitable location."

"Dressmaker, you say?" Thomas sat up, nodding interestedly. "You will be needing assistants, perhaps?"

"Most definitely," Pierre agreed eagerly, his enthusiasm returning "I will need to hire two, perhaps more, seamstresses, and, of course, an apprentice or two."

Thomas grinned. Two women, currently living on his ship, came to mind. They needed a safe place to go, and this might be the perfect solution. Scarlett was quite handy with a needle and, with a little training, he was sure Giselle would make an excellent shop girl.

"I know a perfect pair of women," Thomas said, standing and donning his hat. "If you'd care to accompany me to my ship, I will introduce you."

****

"Where to now, Cap'n?"

Gibbs glanced over at Jack, slouched on the bench next to him. They'd spent most of the morning searching Tortuga for the two women, Scarlett and Giselle, to no avail. No one, in the many taverns they'd canvassed, had seen either woman for nigh on three weeks. It was if they'd suddenly vanished. Or worse.

Jack sat up and reached for the bottle of rum, most of which contents he'd already consumed. Draining the bottle, he stood and swayed before donning his hat.

"Mister Gibbs," Jack slurred to his quartermaster. "It is high time we paid a visit to our good friend, Thomas, though without the two wenches I had hoped would accompany me. Can't bloody figure out where they've gone off to."

"S'ppose something awful happened to them?" Gibbs asked.

Jack paused for a moment. "If that were the case, you'd think someone would have mentioned it." He shrugged. "No, more likely they've gone off on holiday."

Gibbs opened his mouth to point out that Jack had already squelched that same idea when he had suggested it earlier. Shaking his head, he hurried to catch up with Jack, who was bumping and swaying his way across the room.

The sun was low on the horizon as the two of them emerged from the tavern. Tortuga lay quiet, with a deceptive innocence about it. That, Gibbs knew, would all change once the sun went down and the town woke up. Gibbs followed Jack down towards the docks, smiling in anticipation of the night ahead.

****

"How do I look?"

Giselle spun around, the gold silk gown accentuating her lithe form. She felt like a princess going to a ball.

Scarlett smiled. "You look lovely! All the men…" She stopped suddenly, and ducked her head with a frown.

"It's all right, Letty," Giselle said, patting her friend's shoulder. "Not much else for us to go back to, is there? I mean, we can't stay here forever." She looked around the great cabin of the _Griselle_, where she and Scarlett had called home for the past few weeks. Her injuries healed, Giselle knew it was only a matter of time, before they would have to leave their sanctuary, and the kind Captain Thomas behind.

Going back meant going back to work. Giselle inwardly cringed, unsure if she was ready for that step, but determined to put on a brave front for the benefit of her friend. Perhaps, with the addition of the lovely new gowns that Thomas had given them, she and Scarlett could find a position, in one of the more exclusive houses, where the cliental was screened, and the dangers of their profession was less likely to occur.

"We should do something to repay Thomas for his kindness," Scarlett said, interrupting Giselle's thoughts. "If it weren't for him, I don't know what we would have done."

"He is such a nice man," Giselle said, thinking dreamily of the handsome captain. "So different than the others."

Scarlett shook her head. "He's still a man. And, being one, he will be expecting something for his favors. They always do, you know."

"What about Jack?" Giselle pointed out. "He doesn't always ask for something in return."

Scarlett let out a sound of disbelief. "Jack Sparrow? What has he done for you out of the kindness of his heart?"

"He taught me t' read," Giselle argued back. "And he did help me buy that sewing kit of yours."

"And he didn't ask for something in return?" Scarlett turned and stared out the window, and added bitterly, "I doubt seriously that Jack Sparrow has ever done _anything,_ without figuring first what profit was in it for him."

"I supposed you're right," Giselle conceded. "That doesn't make him all bad though. Just lookin' out fer himself."

Scarlett sighed. "I suppose you're right. Jack does have a knack for getting what he wants, doesn't he?"

The two women fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. A thump on the side of the hull broke their reverie.

"That's probably Thomas," Scarlett said, brushing her skirts as she hurriedly went over to the mirror. "He'll be expecting us to entertain him, I'm suspecting." Scarlett gave her hair a quick look then glanced over at Giselle. "He'll be pleased to see you wearing his gown."

Giselle smiled to herself. She'd never seen her roommate get so flustered over a man. Yet, from the blush in her cheeks and the light in her eyes, Giselle suspected that, contrary to what she kept saying, Scarlett thought of Thomas as much more than 'just a man.'

"He'll be pleased to see you wearing yours, as well," she said encouragingly. "It suits you." Scarlett did look stunning in her deep burgundy gown, which accented her hair and alabaster skin.

The two giggled in anticipation, as they listen to the heavy sound of boots on the deck above. Taking their places, carefully arranging their skirts, the two women were seated demurely as the cabin door opened.

They looked up and gave a unified, startled yelp

"Jack!"

****


	21. Truth Be Told

Chapter 21 – Truth Be Told

****

"Jack!"

"Scarlett!"

"Jack!"

"Giselle?"

"What are you doing here?" the three of them said in unison.

To Jack's surprise, there they sat, pretty as you please, the two women he'd been bloody searching for all day. And, from the looks of the _Griselle_'s great cabin – petticoats and chemises thrown hither and yon; brushes, pots of rouge, and other ladies' accruements crowding every available surface – he'd wager they'd been there for some time. A _long_ time.

Scowling, Jack leaned casually against the door frame and hooked his thumbs in his belts. "Fancy meeting you ladies here. Appears that Thomas has decided to forgo with his usual cabin boy. Or did you two ladies decide to keep him around as a pet?" Jack's tone was biting, and it pleased him to see the women wince. An unexplainable anger burned at the back of his throat.

_Seems t' be the way it always ends up, with Thomas stealin' away any piece of skirt I take a fancy to. Easy to see these two have been enjoying his company, no doubt – for free! Serves him bloody right, if they give him the pox._

"Jack," Scarlett protested. "You've no right to come here and speak like that."

Jack bristled, and stalked into the room. "No right? NO right? Since when does a strumpet such as yourself tell me how I ought t' be speaking?"

"Why I never!" Scarlett blushed red and bristled right back. "Who do you think you are, Jack Sparrow? Think you're the only man in this godforsaken town?"

"Jack! Letty!" Giselle interrupted. "Please?!"

Jack whirled on her. "I suppose you're enjoying your stay with the Captain as well? What'd he pay the two of you to get such exclusive privileges?"

"Nothing," a deep voice said from the doorway. Thomas took several long strides into the room, Pierre mincing behind. "They are here strictly as my guests, no strings attached."

Jack snorted as he raised his hands in mock surprise. "Oh, are they? What a magnanimous and charitable gesture of yours, Thomas. Taken to adopting whores now, have you?"

There was always that minute warning, just before Thomas threw a punch. There was none this time. Thomas' fist crashed into Jack's jaw, sending his sprawling. His last thought, before the dots crowding his eyes congealed to solid blackness, was how nice it was to see old friends once again.

****

"Jack?" Her voice sounded far away, as if angels were singing. That is, until the other voice chimed in.

"_Mon Capitaine_! _Mon Dieu_! You have killed him!"

Nope, not heaven. Definitely not. More like hell on earth. Jack tentatively opened one eye and took in the blurry image of Giselle's concerned face peering down at him. He opened the other to find Pierre hovering over her shoulder, wringing his hands in dismay.

"_Capitaine_ Thomas! You should not have…" Pierre squeaked, fluttering in front of Thomas like an enraged moth.

"Damn right I should have." Thomas interrupted with a growl. "From what I've heard, Jack here deserves more than a punch in the nose."

"What'da I do?" Jack groused, struggling to sit up on the Turkish rug.

"Why didn't you help Giselle, like you said you would?" Thomas demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Jack. "If you had, perhaps none of this would have happened."

"None of what?" Jack looked around, shaking his head to clear the lingering fog. "Seems more like a favor I've done you, if you ask me."

Standing directly over Jack, Thomas straightened to impose his full height. "She could have died."

"From what?" Jack stood up and swayed, irritably brushing off the flutter of Pierre's hands. "From the looks of things, I'd say she has it made quite nicely."

Giselle placed a hand on Jack's sleeve. "He saved my life, you know."

"No, I don't know," Jack retorted. "All I know is I came expecting to find a friend and instead got a fist in me face."

"Well, it happened just after I came to ask you fer help with the rent," Giselle started to explain.

"You went to Jack for help?!" Now it was Scarlett's turn to interrupt, turning livid. "How could you have? After the way he'd acted?"

"I was just trying to help, Letty." Giselle looked near to tears, causing Jack to wonder if he oughtn't to just leave, before things went from bad to worse.

"Lucky Captain Thomas happened to be in port," Scarlett continued, her anger boiling over. "It takes a true _gentleman_ to care for others without putting himself first."

"Hold up there!" Jack wagged a finger at Scarlett. "I _did_ try to help, and you told me to bugger off."

"I was trying to earn money for the rent, and could have, if you hadn't dragged me off," Scarlett said. "Thanks to you, we lost our room and Giselle almost died!"

"Now wait a bloody buggering minute!" Jack countered, narrowing one eye. "You can't go blaming whatever happened to Giselle on me. I wasn't even in port."

"Exactly!" Scarlett shouted. "You were off doing what you do best: worrying about yourself."

"Who the hell else is there to worry about?" Jack said, swinging an arm toward the room. "I never promised anything to you or to anyone else." He threw up his hands in disgust. "For god's sake woman! I was willing t' pay my way and you threw me out!"

Thomas, who'd been remarkably quiet through the whole exchange, stepped in. Wrapping an arm around the now sobbing Scarlett, he turned to Jack. "Listen, whatever happened before is over and done with. No use upsetting the lady anymore."

"Lady," Jack muttered to himself, cramming his hat on his head and heading for the door. "More like a banshee, if you ask me." He turned at the door. "Sorry to have disturbed you. I won't be bothering any of you again." With a satisfied jerk of his head, he whirled and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.

****

"Jack, wait!" Giselle called plaintively after him.

"Let him go," Thomas said in a gentler voice. "He'll get over it, once he cools off."

"No, I need to talk to him." Giselle said as she hurried after Jack. "I won't be long."

Giselle caught Jack halfway down the dock. "Jack, wait. Please?" she implored, grabbing his coat sleeve.

Jack brushed her off impatiently, and continued to stride towards town. Giselle doggedly followed, determined to explain matters.

They had reached the _Faithful Bride's _doors before he finally turned around. "Go away!" he barked, with a shooing motion. "Go back to _Gentleman_ Thomas. I'm sure he's vastly better company."

"No, I want to talk to you," Giselle said stubbornly. "I want to explain."

"Explain what?" Jack's eyes were wide as he swiped the air in exasperation. "Explain how, somehow, I am now bloody well responsible for whatever bloody well happens in this pestilent town?"

Giselle knew him well enough to know how to appease his ruffled feelings. Patient and persistent, she tucked her arm in his. "Of course you're not responsible, Jack. You had no way of knowin' them brutes would do what they did t' me."

"What brutes?" Jack paused and looked down at her, his face softening slightly. "What exactly _did_ happen?"

"It's a rather long story," Giselle said with a small smile. "And I don't exactly remember it all. Letty says that's a good thing." She frowned slightly, dodging a drunken patron as he was tossed out the tavern door. "Haven't actually talked about t' no one."

Jack patted her hand and tucked her arm closer. He gestured with his head towards the _Bride_. "Would you rather go someplace more quiet-like and tell me about it?"

Giselle nodded, swallowing hard. She had thought she was ready to face the town, but the raucous voices of the drunken men, and melee in the streets and crowded tavern, things that had excited her before, now caused her to startle and shiver in the darkening night, seeing menace and fright in every shadow.

Seeing her fear, Jack smiled, his usual charming self once more. "No worries, luv. We'll go back to the _Pearl_, no one to frighten you there."

Giselle smiled in relief, and clung tighter to Jack.

_Scarlett is just wrong_, she thought. _Jack is just Jack, but he never meant any harm to come to them_. Giselle was determined to prove her roommate wrong this time.

****

"The brute!" Scarlett sobbed, her face buried in Thomas' shirt. "He does this to torture me, I just know it."

Thomas shook his head. It seemed no matter where they met up, Jack Sparrow and he were destined to be at odds, butting heads over the same woman. And, per the usual, it revolved around a whore. Most times though, it was a matter of who saw her first, or would pay more, or at all. This time, there was something deeper, a more disturbing development. As he held the sobbing woman, he felt her to be more than just a common whore. Underneath the powder and rouge, Thomas saw a fine lady, one with integrity and worth. That fact was all the more reason to see that she found another way to make a living.

Thomas patted Scarlett on the shoulders and told her to wait, then went out on deck to seek out the French dressmaker. He found Pierre, sulking by the sea ladder, an air of melancholy about him.

"Not the best first impression, I must admit," Thomas said, good-naturedly. "I will vouch for the ladies, they are usually much calmer."

Pierre looked up briefly, then went back to studying the water along the quay. He shrugged one shoulder. "_Les jeunes filles_, they are most admirable," he said sorrowfully. "I am confident I can find them a position in my shop."

"Wonderful! So, why the long face, Pierre?" Thomas slapped him cheerfully on the shoulder. "You've a bright future ahead of you. You should be off enjoying the town and what it has to offer."

Pierre sighed. "Alas, I am not interested in, what is you English call it? The sporting life?" He shook his head. "No, I am more of the retiring type, a good book, a fine wine, makes me most content."

Thomas bit his lip to keep from laughing at the sad little Frenchman. "I am sure you will fit in perfectly; Tortuga is a fine mix of all sorts. Many French as well. You'll see."

Pierre just sighed again. "Perhaps I should go now, _Monsieur_ Thomas. I will need to find some lodgings before the night grows too late."

"What'd Jack do? Kick you off the _Pearl_?" Thomas burst out, before he could help himself.

"The man, he is a brute!" Pierre stomped his foot. "He does not deserve someone as refined and civilized as myself. I have wasted my talents. Pah!"

Thomas put his arm around the smaller man's shoulder and gave him a friendly nudge towards the gangplank. "You're a smart man, Pierre. You will no doubt go far." He patted Pierre's shoulder. "You might try Garrett's Boarding House, on Waping Road. I hear they are discriminating with their guests and have an excellent cook.

"_Merci, mon ami_. I shall do that." Pierre gave Thomas a quick bow, clicking his heels together. "Please tell your lovely lady friend, I shall be honored to have her as my assistant, once I have set up shop." He bowed once more, then left the ship with a jaunty step.

Thomas watched him for a moment, then went back to the cabin to tell Scarlett the news. Perhaps this might be the break she'd been waiting for in her difficult life.

****

"So what happened after that?"

Jack and Giselle were sharing a bottle of rum in the _Black Pearl's_ great cabin, while she tried to explain the events of the past weeks.

"Well, after Mr. Beasley told us we'd have to leave, Scarlett went to find a position in one of them specialty houses up in the hills." Giselle smiled and handed the bottle to Jack. "You know the ones: they only take the prettiest girls, and don't just let anyone in the door."

Jack shrugged. "Never had any trouble finding the prettiest girls right there in the _Bride_." He flashed a grin at her and was pleased to see the red in her cheeks. "So where did you go?"

Giselle giggled. "To the _Bride_."

"See? What did I say?" Jack raised a hand and waved it about. "Don't need no snobbish Madame tellin' you who you can and cannot entertain."

Suddenly, Giselle became serious, tears welling in her eyes. "Might have been safer, though," she said, her voice tightening.

Jack paused, bottle halfway to his mouth. Setting it down carefully, he said as gently as he could, "You don't have to talk about it, if you'd rather not."

Giselle shook her head vehemently. "No, I need to. I need to talk to someone, it is making me crazy."

Jack had never seen her look so lost and forlorn. Whatever had happened, it had taken the sparkle out her eye, her usual gaiety gone. He patted his knee. "Come here," he said gently.

Giselle wiped her eyes and sniffed, but did as he asked and settled herself gingerly on his lap.

Jack could feel the tension in her slim body, and made soothing noises, rubbing her back lightly. Giselle relaxed under his touch, the rum doing its part as well. She took several deep breaths, and then began.

"It was late one night. Business had been slow all week, and I didn't have a room t' go to. I thought I'd try to find one more customer, perhaps be able t' afford a room, instead of sleeping in the stable."

Jack nodded, not wanting to stem the flow of words. He handed her the bottle and waited until she'd take a few sips before nudging her on.

"There were three of 'em," Giselle continued, in a bare whisper. "They seemed friendly enough, at first. But then the blonde feller, he pulled a knife and forced me t' go with them." She stopped, shuddering and gulping.

Jack waited, his gut clenched in anticipation of what he was sure would follow. He knew the type, and knew the damage they could wrought to those they singled out for their sport.

"It was awful, Jack!" Giselle sobbed, holding a hand to her mouth in anguish. "I tried t' do just as they said, but they still, still…"

"Shhh," Jack wrapped his arms around Giselle as she buried her face in his shirt, her thin shoulders trembling as she released all that had been bottled up inside.

It shouldn't have happened. As much as he knew it was a risk of the trade, Jack could not stomach the cowardly act of violence towards the whores. And of all the two-bit whores out there, to have sweet, naïve Giselle suffer at the hands of such brutes was intolerable. He made a silent vow that he'd have his revenge, if he ever set eyes on the bastards.

****


	22. Guest Relations

Chapter 22 – Guest Relations

****

"So, what will you do now?" Jack asked Giselle, after she'd finished telling her tale. He handed her the rum they were sharing, in his cabin on the _Black Pearl_.

Having someone to listen, to be able to talk about the horrors that she'd endured, had acted as a balm. Always resilient, she seemed calmer now, less skittish.

"Not sure. We can't stay on the _Griselle_ forever." Giselle smiled and took another sip, settling more comfortably on Jack's lap." And I'm imaginin' that nice Captain Thomas will be happy to have his cabin back."

"Not so nice if you ask me," Jack groused, rubbing his jaw.

_Fine way to be reacquainted with an old friend. Could of just explained things to me, 'stead of hauling off and sluggin' me. Thomas always was a bit irrational, 'specially when women were involved._

"Now, Jack. He didn't mean to, I'm sure." Giselle interrupted his thoughts. "It's just been a long few weeks, that's all. And what with me being there, him not being able to do as he pleased, and him wantin' to, at least with Scarlett…" Her voice trailed off, the sadness creeping back into her eyes.

Jack patted her knee and smiled. "Well, he'll get his wish then. You can stay here tonight."

Giselle started. "Oh. But… I can't, I mean I'm not…" Flustered, she started to stand.

"Shhh. No worries." Jack gently pulled her back onto his lap. "You don't have t' be doing a thing you don't want to."

Giselle turned a worried face to him. "It's not that I don't… it's just that…"

"It's t' be expected, luv. You need time t' heal."

"What if I… can't?" Giselle persisted. "What will I do? Where will I go?" She was close to tears again, her voice quivering.

"You'll be fine." Jack comforted her, lightly rubbing her back. "It's like fallin' off a horse. You just got t' get back up and try again. Give it time."

"You don't mind?" She whispered, her eyes still worried.

"Not t'all. Ol' Jack will help." He grinned, and made a silly face, causing her to giggle through her tears. "I'll just send word to Thomas that you'll be stayin' as a guest on the _Pearl_, 'no strings attached'. Savvy?"

Giselle giggled again. "Savvy."

****

"Well, it appears we have the evening all to ourselves." Thomas turned to Scarlett after receiving the message regarding Giselle. "Apparently, Jack is going to try and make amends." From a corner niche, he pulled out a bottle of port. Pouring them each a glass, he handed Scarlett one with a small flourish. "I am at your disposal, m'lady."

Scarlett gave him a strained smile. She had been waiting for him to ask for payment, for his hospitality. Seemed only natural, him being a man and her being, well, being a whore. She closed her eyes briefly, not wishing to be reminded. Those past days, she had almost forgotten, playing a little fantasy in her head, that she really WAS a guest, no strings attached. Well, she knew better than to be that foolish.

"Yes. You have been so kind to us." She glanced away and blinked, before squaring to look him in the eye. "I will try… I will find a way to pay you back. Whatever you'd like, whatever pleases you."

"I am not looking for that." Thomas came around the table and pulled up a chair. "You do not have to do anything you don't wish."

Scarlett shook her head in amazed skepticism. "I find that hard to believe. It's what all men want."

"Perhaps those you meet. I must admit; I cannot blame them." Thomas shrugged, then leaned on his knees, and added in an earnest voice, "But that is not what _I_ desire."

"You do not find me desirable?" Scarlett frowned, biting her lip. As much as she didn't want to be treated simply as a whore, she did find Thomas attractive. Too attractive.

"You are lovely." He chuckled, his hand dwarfed hers as he took it, brushing a calloused thumb across her knuckles. "No, it's just that during these weeks, I have done some thinking. And, with Giselle reminding me so much of my sister Nell, I find myself curious as to how someone, such as yourself, ended up here, in Tortuga."

Scarlett sat back, mouth open in astonishment. "Do _I_ remind you of your sisters?"

Thomas let out a loud guffaw. "If you did, I would be most disconcerted," he said, his blue eyes twinkling in amusement. "I cannot say I have ever felt _this_ way about them, thank the gods."

Scarlett sensed that he was teasing her. "So, then why don't you want me?" She sat back and pouted.

"I do want you, very much." Thomas suddenly was serious. "These past weeks have been torture, to have you this close and not being able to… well, anything," he ended awkwardly." He grasped both her hands in his. "But I don't want you as a payment, or a favor. I want you on equal terms."

"I wish I could say I believe you." Scarlett sighed, looking away. Oh, how she wished she could believe him. For once in her life, she'd like to believe that a man could want her for _who_ she was, not _what_ she was.

Thomas seemed to read her mind.

"I don't blame you, it must be difficult to trust anyone, especially a man with needs and desires. But believe me, when I say that I see you as a woman, not as what you have become, but who you could have been." His eyes stared intently into hers, trying to convince her. "I want to know that woman, to understand her. I cannot promise you anything, it would not be fair and I do not know when I'll ever return." He gave her a smile. "I can only hope you'll allow me a bit of time to know you, before I sail again."

****

Giselle ended up spending several days on the _Pearl_. With most of the crew ashore in Tortuga, spending their share of plunder, the ship was a quiet respite, a familiar place for Giselle to regain her confidence, and prepare to reenter her world.

Jack kept assuring her she would be fine, and did his best to amuse her, with numerous tales of misfortune and mayhem involving Thomas and him.

Towards the end of the week, Jack returned from a trip into town, with several large parcels, one of which contained their evening meal. Like a magician, Jack pulled from one of the sacks two freshly plucked squabs; from another, a loaf of bread and an assortment of fruits; from a third, several bottles of a fine vintage of red wine. The squabs was relegated to Mr. Kirkland, who beamed with delight as he hurried down the gangway to the galley, assuring them both they would eat like a duke and duchess that evening.

Jack insisted that, if Giselle was going to dine as a duchess, she should look the part. From another parcel, he unveiled a lovely new gown, a pale yellow of the finest silk, along with a beautiful chemise.

"You remembered!" Giselle squealed with delight, holding the dress up, pirouetting around the room.

As she ooohed and ahhed, Jack settled back on his heels, a smug smile on his face.

"Thought I forgot me promise, I wager. Genuine French, they are." He looked up at the ceiling and grimaced. "Or, at least, the ship I pinched them from, was French. I know enough of the language, to know I most certainly do NOT resemble any of the creatures they mentioned."

Giselle giggled.

Jack waved a shooing hand at her. "Well, go on. Try it on." He smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. When she made no move to undress, in an awkward a moment, he paused; and then nodded his head toward the door. "I'll just go check on dinner, shall I?"

Giselle smiled with relief. It wasn't as if Jack hadn't seen her undress before. Heavens, he saw her more out of her clothes, than in. But he hadn't seen the ugly greenish purple welts that still marred her abdomen, nor the glaring red marks left by her assailants, constant reminders of a nightmare best forgotten.

The gown fit like a glove; its silkiness caressing her skin, making her forget for the moment the past horrors. Giselle's heart beat in anticipation of what Jack might say when he returned. He had been nothing but a gentleman, since her arrival at the _Pearl_, giving her his full attention, while demanding nothing in return.

Truth be told, Giselle felt a bit guilty, knowing how much Jack loved a good time. He'd normally be spending his evenings, in the taverns along the waterfront, telling his tales, and drinking with his crew. Dicing and card games, and a working girl's company would be the norm, not sitting in the cabin telling her stories. Giselle made up her mind, that she would find some way to return the favor.

But, the thought of anyone touching her, even Jack, sent shudders down her spine. Frustrated, she balled an angry fist. It wouldn't do, she needed to be able to earn a living, and there weren't that many opportunities available for a girl of meager means.

Feeling worthless and confused again, she slumped in a chair, the lovely gown that had so recently excited her, forgotten. She glanced up as Jack returned, carrying a platter of food. Mr. Kirkland followed close behind and began to set out their meal.

Jack's smile faded when he saw her damp cheeks. Frowning, he waved Mr. Kirkland away, before coming over, his finger catching a stray tear trickling down her cheek. Tilting her face up, to see her eyes, he told her simply, "I would like to help."

****

Scarlett was being treated as a queen. Once he had convinced her that he was being sincere, Thomas had wasted no effort in making sure that she remembered it. From an assortment of lovely gifts, to long conversations into the night, the week passed in a golden haze.

Thomas turned out to be a generous and imaginative lover. Not accustomed to having someone attend to her needs, Scarlett found herself looking forward to their lovemaking, clinging to those moments, knowing they were fleeting.

Arrangements had been made with, Pierre, for both Scarlett and Giselle to be in his employ – Scarlett as a seamstress, and Giselle to tend the shop. Until all the final details were settled, Thomas chose to keep Scarlett on board the _Griselle_, explaining, with a sly grin, that he didn't like to share.

They didn't see Jack or Giselle that week, but did receive several messages, the first to notify them where Giselle was, the next when she had sent for some of her belongings, as she was extending her stay on the _Black Pearl_. Scarlett was torn between concern for her friend, and guilty relief that she could spend the time alone with Thomas. Thomas assured her that Giselle would be fine; despite all she might think, Jack would take good care of her.

****

Mr. Kirkland had created a dinner fit for a king. After the last of the plates were removed, and they were alone once again, Jack entertained Giselle with a few more stories. Finally, he yawned widely, rising as if to go out on deck, where he'd been sleeping, since Giselle had come aboard.

Giselle followed, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "Don't go," she said simply. "Please? I don't want to be alone tonight." Suddenly, she burst into tears and buried her face in his shirt, needing to be held.

Jack did that, stroking her hair, kissing it softly. After several minutes, he eased away and went to the door. Summoning Gibbs, who had the watch, he discretely gave instructions not to be disturbed. Then came back to Giselle.

Brushing the hair away from her face, his eyes searching, he said again with a quiet compassion, "Will you let me help?"

She nodded. No other words were necessary; she understood what he meant. His smile and his eyes told Giselle all she needed to know, that for this one time, at least, he wanted her to be happy.

He kissed her lips, her face, her chin, her neck and beyond, murmuring soft nothings. With delicate fingers, her gown was unfastened, button by button, each button punctuated with a kiss.

Giselle stood stock still, unsure of how to respond. She was quivering both in excitement and apprehension. Jack was patiently tender. Loosening her dress, he slipped it off her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor, then led her to his bunk and lowered her down. She looked at him; she wanted to please him and yet was so afraid.

"Shhh," he whispered, as she started to tear up. "I won't hurt you, I promise." He kissed her again, first her forehead, then her eyes and mouth, slowing retracing his path, edging away her shift to kiss each of her breasts.

Giselle gasped, rigid and recoiling at the same time. She started to cry, curling in a ball away from him. He stroked her arm, then gently pulled her back to face him.

"It's all right, shhh, it fine," he said soothingly, smoothing her hair and squeezing her hand. "It's to be expected." He gazed into her eyes and she to started melt again beneath his gaze. He smiled and made a silly face. She couldn't help but smile back through her tears. He continued his play acting, until she was giggling and once again comfortable.

"See, you are taking this way too seriously," he said solemnly, though his eyes were smiling. "I am not going to do anything you do not want me to do."

Touching his cheek, Giselle smiled back "I _do_ want you to, Jack. That is the problem."

He looked at her puzzled for a moment then sat up and crossed his arms. "I do not see where there is a problem then, luv. You say you want me to, I know I want me to….so what say you… we say… you know …do what we both want me to?" He cocked his head to one side, with a lopsided grin to match.

Giselle couldn't resist. He had managed, in his charming, Jack way, to blot out all her bad memories. She put an arm around his neck and pulled him down a bit too eagerly, bumping his head on the bulkhead.

"Oiy!" he said. "Watch it there!"

She started to apologize, but he put a finger to her lips. Slipping onto the bunk, he gathered her up and kissed her, long and passionately. She responded, and they took their time, savoring each other and releasing pent up emotion.

Tenacious, Jack began again, to overcome her anxieties of being touched. He removed her shift, very deftly she thought, with one arm. A wave of awkward self-consciousness overtook her at the realization that she was lying on the bed, quite naked, and Jack was still quite clothed. Giselle pointed this out, but he shushed her. "This is for you, luv. Jack is going to make you all better, savvy?"

He traced a finger along one of the fading welts on her breast. "First, I will kiss this one better," he said. "And then this one…." He tenderly kissed each bruise, each welt. As he progressed downward, his hand brushed her thigh and she twitched, and started to jerk away. Jack paused for the moment and laid down beside her. He stoked her cheek and gazed deeply into her eyes, patiently waiting until she yielded under his touch.

No words were said, but she understood. This was the only way she would ever heal, like falling off a horse, he'd said, she had to get back on and try again. She cupped his face in her palm, pulled him to her, and allowed her kiss to tell him what she couldn't say, commending herself to his care.

With a master's skill, Jack methodically drew her out of the dark shell of protection she had built and clung to, and brought her into the light of desire and need, waking feelings that she hadn't felt in a very long time, one's that she had thought long ago killed, both by year's of a passionless profession, and one night in a seedy alley. Slow and patient, coaxing and wheedling, he wedged his way into her trust, then held her safe, coddling and nurturing, while rousing sensations long extinguished.

Intriguing fingers and mouth sought her ravaged flesh, healing in more ways than one. With a driving need of that very flesh, she guided him, allowed him to work his magic. With fingers and mouth, patience—and yes, a touch of love—he brought her pleasure that she thought was gone forever from her life.

Afterwards, as she rested her head on his chest, she realized that he was still clothed. She pulled back enough to see his face. "What about you, Jack? This doesn't seem fair."

He smiled and pulled her back. "I am fine," he said complacently. "I have learned something tonight."

"What's that?"

Jack laughed and rolled her on her back, rising on one elbow above her. "It was quite delightful, just being able to make you well." He seemed smug about it. "Who would have thought it would feel this good to give what you can and take nothing back."

****


	23. New Beginnings

Chapter 23 – New Beginnings

****

"You miss him, don't you?" Giselle asked her friend, Scarlett, who was staring forlornly out the shop window.

Scarlett tossed her head and picked up her sewing. "Don't be ridiculous. I was just resting my eyes."

Giselle came around the counter and busied herself straightening the items on the shelf that ran the length of the room. "Nothing wrong with missing him, Letty." She glanced over her shoulder at Scarlett, who didn't look up from her sewing. "Lots of girls have a favorite. Look at Sally. She always had a soft spot for Josh Gibbs."

"I don't have a soft spot," Scarlett said with an impatient wave of her hand. "Captain Thomas showed us great kindness and generosity, that's all. We both have much to thank him for." She sighed, shoulders drooping. "You should know better than me."

"He saved my life." Giselle agreed, joining Scarlett by the broad window in the front of the dress shop. "And even if _you_ don't have a soft spot for him, I know for a fact he has one for you."

Scarlett raised a brow. "Really? Did a certain little bird we know tell you that?"

"The little bird, he has flown, no?" The lilting French accent of Pierre floated from the rear room. The diminutive dressmaker followed, carrying a tray with an assortment of cakes and pastries, along with a steaming pot of tea. "_Absence rend l'amour plus, oui_?"

Scarlett stomped her foot. "I am NOT in love."

"I was not speaking of you, _mademoiselle_." Pierre set the tea tray down on the low table next to where the women were sitting. He gestured to Giselle to pour. "I refer to _le Capitaine_ Sparrow." He continued with a smug look, straightening his cuffs and smoothing his hair.

"Jack?" Both women asked in unison.

"Who's he in love with?" Giselle asked.

Pierre didn't answer, just puffed up his chest and busied himself with his tea.

"You?" Scarlett laughed. "I could see him taking a passing fancy, Jack does love the exotic." She patted Pierre's arm and added affectionately, "But don't be getting your hopes up, dear. Jack is as capricious as the gods."

Giselle puzzled for a moment. "What's capricious mean?"

Pierre sipped his tea and dabbed his mouth daintily. "_Fantasque. Lunatique. Délicieux_."

"Did you just call Jack a delicious lunatic?" Giselle snorted.

"Something like that," Scarlett smiled. "Anyways, I heard the _Black Pearl_ was last sighted somewhere around Martinique. Perhaps he is looking for some French wine or other "delights" to surprise you with, Pierre."

Pierre smiled. "Perhaps."

"And perhaps Thomas is doing the same for you," Giselle added slyly. "He certainly seemed smitten while he was here."

Scarlett stood up with an impatient groan. "Would you please stop? Thomas is gone, probably halfway around the world by now. He won't be back." She set her sewing aside. "Now if you'll excuse me." She turned briskly and walked to the back of the shop and the stairs to the living quarters above.

Giselle watched her go, a sad sigh escaping her lips. She wished with all her heart she could find a way to bring Captain Thomas back. But, being a realist, she knew Letty was probably right. The pirates and privateers that frequented this town were as unpredictable as the weather. For every ounce of sunshine it seemed there followed a bitter pound of rain.

****

Scarlett bit her lip and fought back the tears that threatening as she looked out onto the street below the narrow window of her room. Tortuga was beginning to stir along with the setting sun. Soon, the town would be in full stride, the taverns and whorehouses bustling with sailors, all looking for a good time to be had.

A life that she once lived, in what seemed a lifetime ago. Thanks to the generosity of Thomas and Pierre, both she and Giselle had been offered a new beginning. No longer having to scrounge a marginal existence as a whore, the two women were now gainfully employed at Pierre's dress shop – Scarlett earning her keep with her needle and thread, while Giselle, and her cheerful persona, tended the adjacent notions shop with surprising aplomb.

At first, the days had passed in a blur of activity, as the empty storefront had been transformed into a Parisian style shop, complete with an elegant window display and fitting area fit for a queen. The _coup de grâce_ came when the proprietors of the notions shop across the street put a For Sale sign in their shop window, leaving Pierre's "Femme Fantaisie" with no competition to speak of. The "Fancy Lady" as Giselle called it, did brisk business, leaving Scarlett little time to lament over the loss of her previous life. As it happened, there was nothing about it she missed. Not one thing.

Except Thomas.

****

"Sail ho!"

Captain Thomas shielded his eyes from the sun. "Colors?" he shouted up to his lookout.

"Too far off t' see. Looks t' be a four-master, ridin' low."

Thomas grinned. It had been several days since they'd spotted a potential prey and his men were getting restless. A fat prize such as this was long over-due.

""Let go the top-gallant and the top-sail halyards!" He shouted to his crew. "Let go the tacks and sheets! Haul up the courses!"

The men scrambled to comply, the adrenaline of the chase infecting all the men aboard the _Giselle_. Thomas kept a steady eye on the prize, as the distance closed between the two ships. The merchant ship appeared not to have seen them yet as she serenely moved along, close-hauled under the main-top-gallant-sail, in all the confidence of the solitude of the ocean.

Thomas shouted up to his man aloft. "What'da ya make of her?"

"She's flying French colors, Cap'n," the call came from above.

"A fine prize she'll be," Thomas grinned. "Sheet home the fore topgallant sail! Haul away your halyard! And run up the French colors."

The two ships were within hailing distance by the time the other ship finally noticed them. It appeared the _Giselle_ had caught the ship while most of the crew were below, either at breakfast or asleep in their hammocks. The _Giselle_ were first seen by the mate of the watch, who ran to the rail and, instead of giving an order to call all hands, to their surprise, he hailed them.

The _Giselle's_ second-mate answered, mumbling his words so, that, if they were perhaps bad French, they were certainly not good English. He got out the name "_La Giselle_, de Bordeaux," which seemed to mystify the mate for a few seconds. By this time, the hail had been heard below, and the Frenchmen came tumbling up by the dozen, forward and aft.

"Give that rascal a shot!" Thomas called, grinning widely, and instantly a swivel gun fired from the _Giselle's_ bow. At the same time he ordered their true colors to be run up. This served to so terrify the crew of the French ship that the prize was won with nary another shot fired.

Thomas sent his first mate to take possession of the prize, with directions to secure all the prisoners and to send the Captain of the ship and any passengers onto the _Giselle_.

"Come on, boys!" the first mate shouted, as he and the other hands swarmed over the rail, boarding the Frenchman like a full-blown hurricane. Instead of a furious hand to hand conflict they found the deck practically deserted, and had no difficulty whatever in taking possession.

The crew was rounded up from where they'd taken refuge below decks and soon were huddled together in abject submission and fear around the main mast. The passengers especially were terrified of meeting with severe and cruel usage at the hands of the fearsome pirates. The _Giselle's_ first mate endeavored with great courtesy to assure them that their fears were altogether groundless, and that they would find a generous enemy in Captain Thomas, but it appeared they either did not understand the language or chose to not believe his assurances. A boat was then lowered, and Captain and passengers were sent on board the _Giselle_.

Thomas strolled across the deck to where the frightened group stood bunched together, eyeing the women with a frank and appreciative smile, causing the younger one to blush despite her terror. There were five passengers in all, consisting of a matronly woman with grey hair and two young ladies of apparent wealth and breeding, judging by their dress. Accompanying them were two older gentlemen wearing equally fine attire, rich merchants from the looks of them. The Captain of the captured ship stood aside from the group, proud and defiant, head held high, he alone showing no fear of his impending fate.

"Your name?" Thomas asked the Captain without preamble.

"Capitaine René Drouin. My ship is the _La Victoire_, bound for Marseille. I carry no gold, only textiles and other commodities. Please, take what you wish, just do no harm to my crew."

Thomas laughed, arms folded, he rocked on his heels as he observed the fearless mariner in front of him. "Oh, we plan on taking whatever we want; otherwise we would not have boarded your ship. As for your crew, they will not be harmed, as long as they cooperate."

"And what of us?" A trembling voice asked. "You did not mention your passengers, Captain Drouin. We paid you good money. Are we to be left to these barbarians?"

Thomas whirled and stabbed a finger at the spokesman for the French passengers. "I would watch who you are calling barbarians. Unless that is, you wish us to behave as one?"

"Papa! _Être tranquille_!" The older of the girls implored, her blue eyes wide with fright.

"Your father perhaps would like to bargain for his release?" Thomas noted the fine silk of the girls' dresses, the glittering jewelry around their throats. A very rich family, from the looks of it. Chances were they carrying more than cotton and tobacco back to France.

"Search the ship," Thomas called over to his men. "Lock the crew in the brig, take anything of value."

The crew made fast the two ships, running a gang plank over to the French ship and began hauling bales and casks from the hold. Captain Drouin, resigned to losing his cargo, watched impassively. His passengers were more distraught. As one of the _Giselle_ crew members appeared carrying a large sea trunk, the younger of the two girls watched in dismay, before bursting into tears, her mother doing her best to console her.

"Yours, I gather?" Thomas said to the sobbing girl.

She nodded and whispered, "My trousseau."

"My sister was to be married when we arrived in Marseille. My papa has sold everything, to pay for our passage and the wedding. You rob her of her one chance of happiness." The older girl stomped her foot in anger. "You claim you are not barbarians but you act like one!"

Thomas grabbed the girl by her arms and pulled her to him. Staring into her eyes, he said through clenched teeth, "I beg your pardon, _mademoiselle_. Me and my crew have spared your lives, all of you. If what you say were true, I would have ravaged both you and your sister right here, on this deck, with your parents as witnesses. And, being nothing more than a barbarian, would have then thrown you to my crew, to do with you as they wished." He pulled her closer until their faces were inches apart. "Perhaps you would prefer I act like a barbarian, _mademoiselle_?"

The young woman, to her credit, did not back down, but stood trembling in front of him. Thomas, after a few minutes, released her with a laugh. "Your bravery is to be commended, but will not win you back your possessions. And, as I have taken a fancy to them, I would like the dresses you and your sister are wearing as well." At the shocked expressions on their faces, Thomas laughed even louder. "Just the gowns, you don't have to worry about your virtue being taken."

Several hours later, the now subdued and defrocked passengers were escorted back to the French ship, and were soon nothing more than a speck on the distant horizon. The haul had been a rich one. The cargo, consisting of bales of cotton and tobacco, sugar and skins, would bring a good price. The casks of wine and rum assured the crew would have a merry time of it before making port. The bonus items, the bundles of muslin and raw silk, would make one ex-patriot Frenchman very happy indeed. Thomas hummed merrily to himself as he headed for the helm. He could think of no better place to dispose of such valuable cargo than the lusty pirate port of Tortuga.

****

Jack Sparrow glanced left and right before slipping down the alleyway between the two buildings, feeling his way by instinct in the inky blackness of the night. The ringing footsteps of the nightly patrol could be heard on the cobbled street ahead, making their rounds to assure the citizens of Port Royal could sleep safely at night.

Jack, who had no intention of sleeping at all, waited a minute more before tapping quietly on the door behind him. After several more minutes, and several more taps, the wooden shutter on the window to the right of the door opened and a pale face peered out into the darkness.

"The shop is closed," a familiar voice said firmly, before the shutter was pulled shut.

"Bugger." Jack picked up a good sized rock and lobbed it against the window. The shutter immediately opened again.

"I said…"

"…the shop's closed. Yes, I heard you the first time." Jack hissed. "Now, if you would be so kind…"

"Jack!" Will Turner stuck his head out at the sound of the familiar voice. "What are you doing here? Are you crazy?"

"Of course I am. Now are you going to let me in, or do I have to break down the door?"

"Hold on, I'm coming," the muffled response came, as the head disappeared and the window banged shut once again.

A moment later a thin stream of light trickled out into the alley, as Will opened the back door to his midnight visitor. The smithy looked exactly as Jack remembered it, down to the donkey slumbering peacefully in the corner. He looked around, half expecting to find Mr. Brown, whose shop it was, sleeping off his evening libations. The only smithy present though, was the tousled-hair, bleary-eyed one standing in front of Jack, wearing only a pair of breeches and a puzzled look on his face.

"Why are you here, Jack?" Will asked again, holding the lantern up so he could see the pirate better.

Jack brushed past him and tossed his hat neatly onto a peg on the workbench. "I should be asking you the same thing," he said casually over his shoulder, patting his pockets before producing a small package with a flourish.

"I live here, Jack. Where else would I be?" Will set the lantern on the bench and folded his arms across his bare chest.

"I would have thought you'd be happily married by now, William." Jack glanced at Will and added with a smirk. "Snug as a bug in the Governor's mansion, with your dearly beloved by your side." At Will's downcast look Jack modified his tone, asking simply, "You are going to still marry the winsome wench, are you not?"

Will shrugged, scuffing the dirt floor with his toe. "If she'll have me when she returns."

"Well, then. I suppose you won't be needing this any time soon," Jack said, returning the parcel to his pocket. "Looks like you might could use a bit of this, though," he added producing a small flask of rum from the other. "You said she'd gone?"

Will declined the offer of rum. "Her father's idea. To send her abroad until the gossip died down." He shook his head, his voice bitter. "Society frowns on young ladies fraternizing with pirates. Which brings me to my first question, just why ARE you here, Jack?"

"What? You are not pleased to see me?" Jack spread his arms wide. "I am cut to the quick, I am, Will." Jack blinked and gave Will his most sincere smile.

After a moment, Will smiled as well. "Yes, Jack. It is nice to see you, alive and apparently well. Though you're taking a great risk coming back here. Commodore Norrington is still out to hang you when he catches you."

"_If_ he catches me." Jack modified the statement. "Besides, I won't tarry long, just thought, seeing how I was in the area, I might look up an old friend."

"Where are you heading?" Will asked nonchalantly, not quite able to conceal the curiosity in his voice. This fact was not lost on Jack.

"No where in particular. Not much in the way of action this time of year. Might head towards the Bahamas, the _Pearl_ could use a good cleaning." Jack studied his nails and added casually, "Could use a good first mate. Seems AnaMaria would rather be off fishing than doing a speck of honest pirating."

"I'm not a pirate," Will said.

"Could have fooled me. Pirate's in your blood."

"Well, then it is going to skip a generation. I am staying here, and marrying Elizabeth."

"If she'll have you. Or," Jack pointed out, "if she even comes back."

"I'll take my chances."

"Pity. Well, then, I suppose there is nothing left but to wish you the best, Will Turner." Jack fetched his hat and placed it firmly on his head. "If you change your mind, you can always send word by way of Tortuga."

Then, without further ado and a swirl of coat tails, Jack disappeared once more into the night.

****


End file.
